To Bring You Forth
by ConjuringCharybdis
Summary: Shortly after retaking Ecbatana, King Arslan was stolen away and sold- and unspeakable things were done. He was finally rescued and brought home to the ones who love him the most- but now, months later, something's wrong. He must come face to face with a part of himself he'd been forced to forget, and a secret he can no longer hide. Fem!Arslan, awesome!Elam, childbirth
1. Chapter 1

**Well, here I am again. Lemme tell you, writing these days is like pulling teeth; it's been _very_ hard to sit down and put together a cohesive story. I want to write- I always do- but translating my thoughts into written word has become very difficult. It makes me sad.**

 **Still, I've got work to do and by golly I'm gonna do it.**

 **So, a few warnings for this story. Firstly, my friend requested this, kinda. What she _asked_ me to write was an mpreg Arslan/Elam story. What she's _getting_ is a secretlyfemale!Arslan story featuring Elam as an awesome best friend, because I'm just not comfortable writing slash and mpreg. I figured a way around that is that Arslan is a girl, but was brainwashed by Andragoras early on to think that 'he' is a disfigured boy, a prince. Considering their need for an heir, I was hoping it's not too far-fetched that they'd pull that crap with the first kid who looks like it could be theirs.**

 **The pronouns are gonna be confusing. He thinks of himself as a boy. Because this many years later he doesn't even realize he's not. So it's kinda mpreg, since _he_ is pregnant. There. Loophole. Also, it was such an interesting concept to write.**

 **Big warning: I HAVE NOT READ THE MANGA! I HAVE ONLY WATCHED THE ANIME! BE WARNED! I don't have the time to read the manga :'( Still, please don't judge me too harshly on things I can't know from the anime alone- because I know the anime is incomplete and doesn't cover a lot of original source material.**

 **This is an AU (since I don't know what happens after Arslan decides to march to his father's aid at Ecbatana) where Arslan and company win back the kingdom, but Andragoras and Tahamine don't survive. This is mostly me being lazy and not wanting to deal with those assholes and what they'd do to the situation. We're keeping things as simple as we can here. So Arslan is King of Pars at 15. I intensely Googled what to make Daryun in this post-battle world, but Google hast failed me and we're just gonna stick with him being a marzban again.**

 **The story is gonna be oddly paced. At first I just kinda put it together as a little pastime, but then my imagination got more involved and I had to add more. The language is weird, too, since I want to include modern wording to keep it not-boring, but I don't wanna make it _too_ modern. OC names are taken from the Turkish or Persian sections of baby-name sites, because I'm gonna base this on Arslan's name being Turkish or in some iterations, Persian.**

 **The pregnancy is based off of my friend's rather unique experience. The birth is of my own creation, and has been the hardest thing to write. I've tried to be as medically accurate as possible, but I'm sure I'm wrong in plenty of places. Again, please don't be too harsh.**

 **Anyway, if that all hasn't scared you off, enjoy!**

* * *

He tried to never, ever think of it. It was a completely off-limits topic for thought or, gods forbid, discussion.

Somehow, in the span of less than two months, all of his fears- all of his insecurities- had become his life. Powerless, taken advantage of, weak and unable to save himself.

After That Time, it was much easier for him to sympathize with the slaves he was so intent on freeing.

Still, even when every instinct told him to lock it all away, sometimes he couldn't stop his thoughts from roaming to where they shouldn't- similar to when his tongue grew a mind of its own and ran over a cut on his lip whenever he wasn't thinking about it.

When he did dare to tread along that treacherous path, his first memory of That Time was the worst one.

* * *

They came for him at night. Of course they did- the boy-king of Pars, shoulders sometimes nearly buckling under the new weight of being ruler, would be perceivably more vulnerable and thus be more enthusiastically protected by the ones he was blessed to call his friends. During the day it would be impossible to separate him from them.

But nighttime, with its added hiding places and lulling sense of security, was a different case entirely. If Daryun was to guard him all day, he could not also stand watch over his chambers all night. Thus logic dictated that palace guards, normal but loyal, would have to do this job. And because they were _not_ Daryun, they weren't nearly as well-trained to detect the man called Amir as he snuck into Arslan's chambers through the window.

Arslan wasn't able to fight him off. Even though being a light sleeper allowed the young king to detect the attacker, he was barely able to lunge for his dagger before a cloth was suddenly pressed to his face. After inhaling just once, Arslan was unconscious.

He woke in a covered wagon. His arms and legs were bound. Regardless, Arslan forced himself upright, contorting his limbs this way and that in the hopes of wriggling free. At fifteen years old, he was still small in stature and was hoping to use this to his advantage.

However, he couldn't escape his bonds. The ropes were tight, biting into the soft flesh of his wrists and ankles.

He was without boots, and wearing only his sleeping shift. His hair was loose and tangled and falling in his face, to his irritation and Amir's amusement.

When he tired himself out, he demanded answers of the infuriatingly cocky man sitting opposite him on a cushion.

Amir, his kidnapper, spoke in a language Arslan had never heard before- but while the words were unknown, the tone of answer implied he had understood the questions and was simply unable to reply in anything but his own language.

When Arslan demanded to know the man's motivations, Amir broke right through the boy's mask of bravado and leaned in close, reaching out and lifting up a lock of the young king's white hair with an air of admiration, making the boy squirm and fruitlessly try to cringe away. Again, the man's tone communicated what his words could not- and this time it was such a familiar tone that Arslan knew without translation what the man had said: "Because you are beautiful."

It wasn't an interpretation based on vanity, but on an embarrassing history of being told variances of that exact phrase. Because what the new king lacked in physical power, he apparently made up for with exotic (and shamefully effeminate) looks- looks that had been subject to comment from peasants and nobles alike for as long as Arslan could remember.

Then- and this is the part of the memory that he specifically wished he could block out- the man leaned even closer, hand drifting to the neckline of his gown. Before Arslan could do more than gasp, and despite the boy trying his best to lean away as far as he could, the other hand came up and the shift was ripped down the middle, exposing his torso and his greatest shame.

The day before had been a trying, completely exhausting one, full of meetings and training and more meetings and issues that needed to be dealt with _right that second._ He had fallen into bed after minimal preparations and without bothering to remove his bandages.

Now said bandages were on display for the man who, emboldened by the discovery and with a sharp smirk, reached for them with a 'what-have-we-here' tone on his tongue. Arslan fought harder than ever before, shouting with a hoarse voice until he was begging, pleading for the man to leave him alone. _Pathetic. And you're supposed to be a king they can be proud of?_

There, in the back of a covered travelling merchant's cart, Amir became the only other living person to know Arslan's secret. What was most horrifying about it, though, was how sickeningly _pleased_ he was to learn it.

* * *

The next weeks were blurred with the sheer trauma of it all, and for that, at least, he could be thankful. He knew intellectually what had happened- _kidnapped, sold, used, rescued._ But actually reliving those memories was something he wasn't sure he could overcome- a special kind of torment.

Sometimes trivial things that vaguely stirred up a memory could send him into a fit, or at least make his heart race and his chest constrict painfully. And all he could do was curse himself for how _weak_ he was.

He threw his everything into moving forward, and becoming the king his people deserved. One day he _would_ be strong, and mighty, and all of the things a king was supposed to be.

He'd just have to work himself harder and harder until that happened.

* * *

The following months were hard on his body.

He went through phases of voracious hunger interspersed with no appetite at all. The near daily vomiting that closely followed was doubly unpleasant, but generally occurred early in the morning and was gone by the time he needed to leave his chambers. Only once did it happen later in the day, and he was able to dismiss it as a passing illness without raising too much alarm. When this horrible phase ended, it was replaced with a constant tiredness that pulled at his very bones and must have meant that he was overworking himself again- although he wasn't going to cut back on his daily progress anytime soon, not when he was finally starting to get a hold on what being king entailed. No, he would simply have to force himself to stay alert and pay attention, and hopefully the weariness wouldn't end up costing him.

Out of all of this chaos, there was one thing he consistently couldn't explain away- and that was the shifting feeling inside of his stomach. It started several months after his return to Ecbatana, and happened often enough that he developed an anxiety in the recesses of his mind over what could be causing it.

There was no pattern to how it felt; sometimes it was a jab, sometimes it was a rolling feeling, sometimes it was a fluttering. He could set his hand upon his stomach and watch the impacts gently nudge it. They would come and go in hours-long increments.

However, they were _very_ weak. Strange, and uncomfortable, but never painful or powerful enough to warrant much attention. He had gotten rather good at tuning them out.

After many weeks of this, he'd grown accustomed to it and never made mention to anyone.

* * *

The day started as always- Arslan was awakened and dressed by Hayal. He was drowsy and a bit sore that morning, but he went about his day all the same; he met with his advisors, and then with citizens with concerns, and by midday he was in the courtyard, sword in hand and body coated in sweat.

Breathing- while much easier in the last few days than it had been in a while- was a struggle now, and each block and strike drained more stamina than it should have. Embarrassed, the boy did not bring this to Daryun's attention and forced his aching, shaky body to obey his commands.

 _He's going to aim for my side this time,_ he analyzed, and moved to block accordingly. He was barely keeping his weapon in his hands.

 _Clang!_

The king was disarmed, falling backwards and landing on his backside, entire body jolted by the impact. His sword noisily hit the ground several feet away.

He vaguely registered the approaching sound of boots clipping the ground. "Highness, are you well?" Daryun asked, kneeling beside him with a concerned look. After closer examination, the man decided, "It's clear you've come down with something- you're shaking, and we've hardly begun."

"I'm fine," Arslan asserted, even as his face stayed screwed up in pain and he rubbed at his aching back. The impact with the ground must have jarred his body worse than he'd thought, because his lower back was cramping up in a secondary wave of pain. It lasted a few seconds longer and then disappeared, allowing the boy some relief. He raised his head and forced his eyes open, meeting his guardian's gaze.

Daryun looked unconvinced, offering the young king a hand. "Come- training is over for today."

Arslan was quite tempted to halfheartedly scold him for giving orders to his king, but in the end he couldn't argue with his body's fervent agreement; he accepted the help up, acquiescing with a tired sigh.

* * *

To his astonishing good fortune, Lord Ayhan had to cancel his visit to the castle, making him the third to do so; Arslan read the note, delivered by loyal Azrael, explaining that the man's youngest son had come back from Gilan several days early with a new wife in tow, and he couldn't help the amused smile pulling at his lips.

"People never cease to confuse me," he admitted to his winged companion. Azrael tittered from his perch on Arslan's shoulder.

Taking in a breath of dry summer air, the boy sent the falcon off with a message of his own and continued his path to his chambers, glad to realize that, with this final cancellation, he now had a whole afternoon with no kingly obligations to attend to.

 _Maybe some rest is in order._

* * *

He stood quietly while Hayal removed his armor and outer tunic, then requested she help remove his jewelry as well. She was just unclasping his necklace when he was overtaken by a wave of heat; he pulled his undertunic off as well, politely dismissing her after she'd put it away.

His chest had been in discomfort for the past week, and he again had to loosen his bandages to try and alleviate some of it- it helped very little, but he was unwilling to loosen them further lest it give too much away- his day wasn't completely over, after all.

He untied his hair, pulled off his boots, then climbed into his bed, which suddenly seemed too firm for his aching muscles to appreciate. Still, he managed to fall asleep relatively quickly.

The boy barely got any sleep, however, before he was awakened by that same cramping pain in his back from earlier, only slightly more powerful than before. It wasn't unbearable, but it was still strong and strange. His muscles tensed up without his intent and stayed that way.

Grimacing, he rolled onto his side and curled up, waiting it out.

 _...thirty-one… thirty-two… thirty-three..._

Finally it left him and he let out a sigh. _I'm starting to think I should be concerned._

Still, muscle cramps were no reason to raise any alarm amongst his staff and his friends- Elam in particular. The other boy often took it upon himself to tend Arslan's wounds and treat his illnesses, both to be of help to the king and to apply the skills he was learning with his master, and his time could be much better spent.

Also, the mere thought of the others fretting over him was enough to make Arslan uncomfortable.

 _I refuse to be the burden I once was._

He wasn't a helpless child anymore- he was sixteen, he was the king of Pars, and he had his father's legacy to live up to. His kingdom could not afford a single mistake or shortcoming on his part, and his loyal friends didn't deserve to carry his weight forever. He was determined to better himself in every possible way, and he wouldn't stop this quest until he could fight for himself, until he could rule on his own, until he was truly a _king_.

His people often regarded him as a young boy taking on more than he could handle- there was hardly malice in this, but all the same he wanted to earn their respect so he could stop feeling like an imposter each time he sat upon his father's throne.

With these anxious thoughts circling in his mind, the young king rolled onto his other side and fell asleep once more.

* * *

 **Well, let me know what you think! Next chapter will be up on Friday!**


	2. Chapter 2

The pains continued to return about once every thirty minutes, but he soon became accustomed to riding them out and was able to stay partially in the land of unconsciousness when they gripped him.

He said nothing of it to Hayal when she came to tentatively wake him for the evening meal, and assured her he was well enough to be out of bed at least for an hour or so- it seemed Daryun had told her that the young ruler had taken ill.

She had a son Arslan's age and was very maternal towards her king, even if it was subtle and diluted for propriety's sake. She asked permission before kissing his forehead, and nodded when she found no fever on his brow.

"I beg you not to strain yourself, my king," she said, tone more commanding than begging.

Arslan nodded absently, apologized when this interfered with her attempt to braid his hair, and sat still while she corrected the damage.

* * *

Dinner was a tradition Arslan had insisted upon from the day his men retook the castle- he sat with his closest friends, his most trusted allies, and they ate in good spirits together. It was what he looked most forward to each day, as everyone's busy schedules often afforded them little time to spend in each other's company.

Tonight, however, he found his mood was quite low, and not even the laughter of his friends served to lift it. He was not angry, or saddened, but his physical state had started dragging his mental state down to match it- he was miserable, and trying his absolute best to hide it. He smiled and forced a laugh when it was expected, he sat with perfect posture despite the occasional twinge in his back, and he kept his eyes focused on the others even though he wanted nothing more than to close them.

Alfreed and Elam were arguing over something new today, and Narsus begrudgingly stepped in to calm them lest goblets started flying. Once the teens were disarmed, he engaged Jaswant in a discussion about his homeland that they eventually joined as well.

Gieve, as always, focused his attention unevenly between Arslan and Farangis- the latter receiving far more and giving much less in return.

When he wasn't trying to impress the aloof priestess with tales of his most recent travel, Gieve talked lightly with the young king, sparing a compliment (unnecessarily long and eloquent) towards the style of braid Arslan wore before turning the conversation to a new (ridiculous) fashion trend in Turan.

All the while, Arslan felt Daryun's eyes on him. He was not overtly staring, but he sent the boy a sidelong glance much more often than should have been warranted. Arslan knew he was concerned, as he was wont to be, and appreciated the man's restraint in keeping from speaking of it aloud, but he found slight irritation in it all the same; he didn't like being watched so closely, especially when he'd said he was fine.

He didn't eat much of his meal, but Daryun thankfully didn't comment- perhaps understanding that the young king simply didn't feel well enough. Just to keep his silent guardian somewhat sated, though, Arslan made sure to drink plenty of water and to stomach what little of his food he was able.

As the evening wound to a close and the servants came to collect the abandoned remnants of the meal, Arslan felt another pain. This one was stronger and had spread to the muscles of his abdomen as well- taken by surprise, he was only barely able to hold off a sharp inhale.

He reigned himself in, and, in an impressive show of self-control, he slowly and casually moved his forearms to cross over his stomach as he leaned against the back of his seat, allowing them to cradle him subtly under the guise of simply resting them there. Daryun watched the movement, but didn't seem to see the significance of it.

After a while the others invited him to the common room to continue their relaxed evening, but he had to apologetically decline, citing Hayal's advisory to return to bed as soon as the meal was over. He'd be glad to go, as there was a strange pressure that had started building in the basin of his hips that had him shifting in his seat, and he was tired of the strange looks this got him.

His words garnered some concerned glances and inquiries about his health, and he was quick to assure them that he had simply caught a mild illness and would be fine, with rest, in the morning.

A well-rehearsed line that had been his friend for a very long time.

With final parting words and a reassuring glance at a very conflicted-looking Daryun, Arslan made his way back to his chambers.

* * *

Arslan slept in interrupted segments that gradually got shorter.

He'd taken off his bandages for the night, which helped tremendously in keeping him comfortable, but no matter how he lay, the pains kept coming back with increasing frequency and waking him. As the night wore on, the time between them decreased while their strength and duration increased.

By the time Hayal came in to wake him the next morning, he was only able to sleep for ten minutes between.

At this point the anxiety in the back of his mind had grown, pointing out that something passing should have started to fade by now, not get stronger.

He refused to give in, though- he still wasn't convinced this wasn't the result of sleeping wrong, or simply his muscles acting up after months of rigorous daily training with Daryun. Ever since his return, Arslan had been dedicated to becoming a stronger fighter- and, he reasoned, overexertion could certainly be an explanation.

All of those thoughts aside, he had many responsibilities to see to- he couldn't afford to let something like this keep him bedridden.

His sheer determination was the only thing that kept him from falling on his face the moment he dragged himself out of bed- he forced his legs to stay steady beneath him, and carefully hid the dizziness that immediately assaulted him from his handmaiden.

She was a blur of white robes darting about the room, and his vision swam more severely when he turned his head to try and follow her movements. Scolding himself, the young king rubbed at his sore eyes and focused on the faint glint of morning sunlight shining off of the golden cuff she'd set out. Eventually the haze evaporated and he saw detail again.

"You seem unwell still, Your Highness," Hayal tutted as she dressed him. She was the only one he allowed to do the task, as she was one of the few who knew his secret. She always turned her back as she readied his clothes, giving him plenty of time to tie his bandages.

Sometimes, when he'd worked himself to the brink of collapse the day before, she would come up behind him, crossing the tails of the long cloth over his back before wordlessly handing them back to him under his arms to spare his muscles the strain of reaching around.

Arslan shook his head, offering a reassuring smile. "I feel much better today- you have my word."

Her brown eyes scrutinized his face as her hands carried out the task of pulling his belt around his back, but she said nothing.

The belt cinched around his waist.

 _Gah!_ "Loosen that, please." He tried to request it as evenly as possible, even as agony spread throughout his core; it took all of his effort to keep from ripping the offending article off. Hayal seemed slightly alarmed, hurriedly releasing the half-formed knot she'd been tying and letting the belt fall.

"Have I hurt you, Highness?" Her hands went to probe at his stomach, but he waved them away. _Breathe evenly. Breathe evenly. Don't panic._ "Whatever ails you, I fear it could be worsening- that should not have hurt."

"No, I'm quite alright," he insisted, but it sounded weak to his own ears.

The woman clearly didn't want to let it go, maternal instincts at war with servant codes of conduct. "Are you _certain_?" _Now is your time to be honest with me,_ please _be honest with me_.

Despite what many believed, the boy had a rather high pain tolerance- born more from pride and stubbornness than from experience. The pangs of residual pain gradually morphed into another debilitating crescendo, and he grit his teeth and curled his toes and made nary a sound to voice his discomfort.

He swallowed thickly. "I am."

"Perhaps it's time you saw a healer, Majesty."

"I'm fine."

His stare met her own and she ducked her head.

"Of course, King Arslan."

Still, she went back to his wardrobe and selected much looser robes. Instead of the belt she wrapped a sash lightly around his hips, tying it at his left hip instead of his navel.

Relieved and grateful, he dipped his head in silent thanks, and she smiled tightly and moved on to switching his earrings.

* * *

 **Let me know what you think! The next chapter, where the real action begins, will be up on Monday!**


	3. Chapter 3

Despite the pains consistently interrupting every task he had that day, Arslan got plenty of things done.

He and his advisors drafted plans to provide job opportunities for the newly-freed slaves, and immediately after he met with Lords Reis and Baydar and discussed crop production. Despite Daryun's insistence that they do weapons-free exercises for the day, Arslan was able to hide his poor health well enough to convince the man to let him practice his archery.

And, to his enthusiastic relief, he even found time to tend to the horses with Elam.

It was an activity he found soothing- being able to break away from being the King of Pars for a few short hours and do chores alongside his friend was always a blessing, especially when the self-deprecating thoughts and insecurities about his capabilities as king (or lack thereof) would wind themselves around his heart and squeeze it in an unrelenting grip. Taking a few steps away from that pressure, while still being within arm's reach, helped distract his mind from his anxiety and his anger at himself.

Because he was always acutely aware that _he should be doing better_.

But sometimes, he would argue (beg) with himself when his mind was threatening to shut down from the sheer brutality of his self-hatred- which sounded quite like his father's voice echoing in constant repeat- _do better_ didn't have to mean _do now._

Aside from this, and the pleasing feeling of knowing he'd helped lessen the workload for the stablehands, he also enjoyed building up his skills in the everyday-man's-job and being somewhat knowledgeable on it, being _useful_.

When he'd first found Elam and asked if he wanted to try this, the look he'd gotten was somewhere between _are-you-alright_ and _am-I-even-surprised_. Then they'd traipsed over to the stables, Arslan had politely asked Farzin, the freed-slave-turned-stablehand, if he would mind giving them his work for the evening, and Farzin had, head bowed low, insisted the King do whatever he pleased.

The teens soon made a habit of taking on his nightly chores whenever they had the time, and noticed the elderly man was hardly upset by this as he ambled home those afternoons, joints already having gone stiff.

Unmentioned went the fact that Farzin's pay was untouched by this change to his total hours of work.

This afternoon was a promising one for stablework: the air had cooled slightly from the midday scorching heat, and a delicate breeze swept through the open building and played with human and horse hair alike. It carried the faintest scent of wild grasses and some sort of sweet-smelling flower.

Elam was pouring feed into Ziba's stable box when he glanced at Arslan over his shoulder, amusement on his face.

"So, let's make a bet," he said, as he often did.

Arslan paused, one hand hovering over Shabrang's muzzle and the other holding a coarse brush. "On what?" he asked, curious.

The brunet set the empty bucket down and crossed his arms casually over his chest. With his head he gestured to the stall beside Ziba's, and the palomino head sticking out of it. "When we think Esana will foal."

"Ah." Arslan absentmindedly took up grooming Daryun's docile stallion as he studied the heavily pregnant mare. She was a prized warhorse, strong and agile, and in peacetime produced promising foals. From his vantage point the king could see only her muscled neck and face, but, having glimpsed her from a castle window two days prior in her full, bursting glory, he was confident that her time was nearly upon her. "I'd wager we'll see her foal in… three days." He nodded decisively, making Elam raise an eyebrow and smirk.

"Ah, but you forget that Emine looked like this _right_ before she gave birth- my wager is that we'll see it by tomorrow evening." Arslan felt both his brows rise in surprise.

"So soon?"

Elam simply shrugged, smirk still pulling at his lips. Realizing his friend wasn't budging on this, Arslan chuckled and turned his gaze back to Shabrang, running the brush down the giant beast's neck. "I suppose we'll see, then," he murmured in amusement.

* * *

Because there were visiting nobles staying at the castle, there were more horses than usual in the stables and the pair found that they were only halfway done with their tasks when a young servant named Esteri came to fetch them for the evening meal. Arslan assured his friend that he didn't at all mind coming back afterwards to finish, even though it meant changing into and then back out of his fine clothes. He cherished any time he could spend with Elam.

Dinner was a boring affair since he was unable to spend it with his usual companions- the nobles that had arrived that day filled the seats instead. They chattered about trivial things and he put on his best hosting act and joined them, although forcing each trite statement from his lips was almost as unbearable as the persistent pains that continued to deluge him.

His time spent in the stables had done him well in that he'd been distracted enough to only partially feel the pains when they came upon him, and it was easier and less stressful to hide them from Elam while hidden behind the horses' gigantic frames and with his friend focused on his own work as well. He'd felt refreshed even though the work left him sweaty and tired.

He'd also discovered that gently rocking his hips from side to side helped reduce the uncomfortable pressure in his pelvis, and although it didn't do much for the pains, it was some kind of progress and he was glad for it.

Contrasting that almost pleasant time with this droll one left him wishing he wasn't a king at all, just to escape from the duty of playing host.

"Tell me, Your Majesty- what do you value most about your kingdom- the land? Resources?" Unlike those with stronger ties to Ecbatana, with whom he got along splendidly, some of these lords were simply… sordid. Uncomfortable. Nothing they said offended, but their smiles made him want to cringe away. Their eyes told of hidden motives and inherent untrustworthiness.

He smiled tightly and answered to his best capability as the next pain took hold.

The clenching of his stomach was predictable by this point, and while each time was a fresh assault upon his weary body, he managed to stay completely composed. Not a single suspicion was raised, even when the pains started getting worse and harder to hide.

Politics soon ended and he gladly took his leave.

By the time he'd changed out of his finery and met back up with Elam, the sun was setting on the horizon. They trekked back out to the stables with full bellies, a peaceful aura around them that Arslan had been praying for- it was moments like these that he committed to memory.

Of course, his memory of this night would have to exclude the decidedly stormy aura within his body- each step sent a slight jolt through him, jostling his tender stomach, and his lower back was beginning to ache. He winced, but soldiered on. When a pain caught him mid-step, he slowed his pace but kept his head upturned and his posture relaxed. If his companion took notice of anything out of the ordinary, he gave no indication.

They didn't speak, enjoying the view of the stars as they made their appearance, so the first word between them was Elam's sudden, "Wait." They were in the doorway of the stables, and the sound of labored breathing was obvious.

Arslan's eyes widened, knowing the sound from a stable visit months ago, and he wordlessly took the torch from Elam and lit the mounted torches with it, filling the room with warm, dancing light.

This done, he returned to Elam's side as the other boy stood outside of Esana's stall.

The palomino mare lay on her side in the hay, round belly expanding and contracting with her harsh breaths. Straining huffs escaped her nostrils before her body stiffened and she lifted her head, grunting loudly. It passed and she lay back down again.

Elam looked at Arslan from the corner of his eye. "It seems my expertise knows no bounds," he gloated.

Arslan could only watch in awe- he'd seen animals giving birth before, but it never failed to fascinate him. How intricate were their bodies that, under the right circumstances, these creatures could _create life_? What kinds of systems were at play to make, and nurture, and birth these new lives?

He tensed up as a pain of his own came, lasted nearly a minute, and went.

He spared a concerned thought- that one had been much stronger than the one he'd had during the walk here, and, now that he thought about it, _that_ one had been unusually strong as well. Also, they were only about two minutes apart now- what would happen when that gap closed completely, as the pattern seemed to suggest would happen? If they were to keep getting stronger, he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep this to himself.

Still, there were more pressing matters- the pains, he was sure, would still be around after this, and he could hold himself together for at least that long.

He glanced over at Elam- thankfully, he hadn't seen, and Arslan sighed in relief, rocking his hips slowly and refocusing on the miracle in front of them.

Esana's entire abdomen was taut again, and Arslan winced sympathetically. That had to be painful, especially judging by the noises she was making. How could she push a foal out of her body, such a traumatic process, and still be intact afterwards? He knew she'd likely be fine- her body was made for this and had successfully done it before- and he knew birth only ended badly when there was a complication, but the whole process of it seemed so horrible by nature. The Goddess truly had strange ideas in mind when she created her creatures.

They didn't dare intervene yet- only experienced stablehands could be trusted to assist a mare's delivery, and neither of them qualified. So they leaned against the stall's door and watched with bated breath as she brought her foal, little by little, into the world. Soon they caught a glimpse of a white membrane peeking out of her, only to disappear from sight after a moment.

"Want to bet on the sex?" Elam murmured, not breaking his watchful stare as the feet, wrapped in that membrane, made their appearance and stayed put.

Arslan, not looking away either, replied, just as quietly, "Female."

"Coat?"

Thinking of Alp, the sire, he answered, "Black with white."

"Gold. I'll bet there's another one in there, as well."

"There isn't."

"You're going to owe me a _lot_ of gold pieces, _Your Majesty_."

"Who said we were betting in gold pieces?"

"I did- and you would be cruel to crush my hopes."

Arslan's snort of laughter burst forth unexpectedly, making him bite his lip and cover his mouth with his fist to stifle any noise that could disturb Esana. He spared the brunet a glance from the corner of his eye. "Alright, Elam," he teased quietly, "my poor, pitiful subject- I shall play your game."

Elam's cocky smirk grew. "I knew you would."

This was the kind of friendship Arslan had longed for years ago- something easy and natural, but strong to its foundations. At first he'd thought Elam would be impossible to be close with, considering his dislike of Arslan's royal status and his closed-off attitude. Being able to joke around with him now, and without the rift of propriety and rank wedging between them, felt like a monumental achievement.

Happier than he'd been in days, Arslan watched excitedly as those spindly legs were joined by a head, a neck, and a long torso, opening the poor mare impossibly wide. Then, after fighting with her own body for several painful-looking minutes, she forced the torso to inch out and then the back legs slid free with a burst of fluid.

They waited for the foal to move, to break free of its sac, but several seconds passed and nothing happened. Esana panted, lying limply and not moving to clean her foal.

Worried, the pair shared a glance- did they need to step in?

When the foal still failed to give any sign of life, the boys slowly entered the stall. A shared questioning glance passed between them, hands resting on the hilts of their blades, before Arslan decisively pulled out his knife- Elam conceded with a shrug.

The very tips of the foal's rear hooves were still inside of her, so Elam grabbed its front legs and pulled it the rest of the way out; Arslan then knelt beside it, preparing to cut it free. His chances weren't looking so good after all- the thin white sac around it made it difficult to see its specific coloring, but he could immediately tell that whatever color it was, it was very pale- white or golden or fair gray. _Ah, well; at least by the size of it I'm right on it being the only one._ Getting as good a grip on the slippery membrane as he could, he cut small a hole in it and they proceeded to tear it open.

They made short work of freeing the foal from its encasement, revealing a male with a pure white coat and tiny pink hooves. Esana craned her neck back and began nuzzling her offspring, and to their immense relief the limp body was suddenly animated. The colt jerked to life, opening pale blue eyes and shakily lifting his head to meet his dam's.

"He's cute!" Arslan cooed, reaching out and petting the colt's slimy neck. It wasn't a very large foal, but he had no doubts that with time and care, it would thrive. He couldn't wait to watch this awkward, scrawny creature grow into a surely magnificent beast.

Elam snagged Arslan's dagger, wiping it clean on the edge of his tunic before handing it back.

"I guess so- he'd be cuter had he a twin to make me triply right."

Arslan huffed indignantly as he sheathed his blade and slid it back into his sash. "Do my eyes deceive me? Is this foal not white, but gold, as you said?" he asked pointedly.

The other boy groaned. "Can you not have pity? I was close enough."

"Of course not. Besides, you were also right about when it would be born- so it is _you_ who should be having pity on _me._ "

Elam smiled. "Then I suppose I shall be benevolent- I'll still be expecting my gold, though."

Arslan was about to scoff, but was cut off with a loud _clack_ as his jaw wrenched shut- this pain was unlike any before it, a tight band around his torso squeezing so hard that he felt like he might burst from the pressure. The pain was exponentially worse, reaching down deep into his hips and burning between his legs. The feeling of pressure in the basin of his pelvis had evolved into a feeling of something heavy and painful pushing against it. He couldn't stop himself- his face crumpled and he groaned, a hand coming up to press gently against his stomach.

He inwardly cursed as he felt Elam's hand resting on his arm, alarmed voice coming from right beside him. "Your Majesty, are you injured? What's wrong? Did she kick you?" Without waiting for an answer- not that Arslan could have formulated one- the boy slung Arslan's other arm around his shoulders, bearing most of his weight as he stood and dragged him out of the stall; Elam had hit his growth spurt several months earlier while Arslan had not, and so the brunet stood over one head taller and was a good deal stronger than his royal counterpart.

The change in position completely disoriented the young king, who groaned again as the agony continued. His hand pressed harder on his stomach and then he felt something inside of him _roll_. The weight in his hips doubled, and the oddest, most disconcerting feeling overtook him: it felt as though the accumulating weight would fall out of him should he stay standing- and his first instinct was to lock his knees together to prevent it.

Elam lowered him to the ground, closed the stall door and leaned him against it, crouching beside him. When Arslan simply curled in on himself, the other boy reached out a hesitant hand. "May I take a look, Highness?"

Arslan's teeth were grinding, his jaw locked closed, and his mind could barely focus on what was happening outside of his body. His racing thoughts were focused on the unnerving ball of pressure pressing harshly against his pelvic floor.

Elam's voice was still unsure as he warned, "I'm going to touch your stomach." Arslan didn't come up with a negative answer in time, and suddenly there was a warm hand resting gently on his stomach beside his own. He heard a small intake of breath. The fingers pressed a little harder, probing the miniscule dome of his abdomen.

The added pressure was hardly a problem until the pain ended- and then their digging into his softer stomach was agonizing. Arslan pushed Elam's hand away, panting. "I'm fine now," he said hoarsely.

Elam's concern hardened into anger, green eyes flashing dangerously. "You are not. That wasn't harmless- that was all of your abdominal muscles contracting at once, and I know that you were in serious pain. That _cannot_ be a good sign."

The firmness of his tone gave Arslan pause as he was forming a dismissive reply- he was right, and of course Arslan knew that. He'd known that truth, fretted over it, fought with it, for almost two days now. But… to have it out in the open, to hear it so plainly…

"I know. You're right. I…" His eyes started watering and he quickly blinked the moisture away. "I don't want to be a burden. I thought I could handle this on my own, yet it worsens and there's still no end to it in sight..." His breath caught in a sudden hiccupping squeak that he couldn't quite muffle. _I truly am unraveling. Pathetic._ He wasn't supposed to cry out, not ever.

Elam's countenance softened, perhaps having heard the slight shake in his friend's voice as he admitted it, and he reached out and hesitantly placed his hand on top of Arslan's, which was still resting lightly on his throbbing belly. "Y- _Arslan_ , you are _not_ a burden. If you're hurting, no matter how small the cause may be, you come to me or Narsus. It's our pleasure to be of service to you, My King."

It had been said many times before, but lately, until hearing Elam say it so _earnestly_ , Arslan had admittedly had doubts in his mind that they might simply be saying it out of obligation. It seemed like most people spoke to him from a script since he was the King, and sometimes he found it hard to trust that they truly meant it.

But, he supposed, he'd somehow forgotten that Elam, Narsus, Daryun, Farangis… all of his close friends, they always went above and beyond the call of duty for him, whether he asked it of them or not. They'd more than proven their loyalty, and he couldn't believe he had doubted just how much they cared.

He could be so stupid sometimes.

Arslan met his friend's eyes and he smiled shakily, trying very hard not to cry in front of the other boy- he didn't want to risk opening the floodgates on him and overwhelming the poor soul. "Thank you, Elam. I don't know where I'd be without you."

Elam smiled back, giving his hand a small squeeze before settling back into physician-mode, backing up a bit and scanning him over visually. "Now- how long has this been going on?"

In his shame, Arslan looked away from Elam and instead watched as Shabrang poked his head out of his stall, stared at the pair with his sharp golden gaze, and ducked back out of sight. Distraction gone, he forced his coward eyes back to the subject of importance, whose face was carefully neutral.

"Um…" blushing slightly, he confessed, "more than a day."

Disapproval was evident in the tic of that brown eyebrow, but otherwise no judgment was made. "Alright. And can you describe what has been happening?"

 _Oh, simply agonizing pain and a slowly-growing feeling of despair._ Arslan winced, shifting his hips against the slight swell of pressure between his legs, and forced himself to keep breathing evenly. From behind him he heard the sound of small hooves scrambling to find purchase on the hay-covered ground, with intermittent high-pitched whinnies as the newest arrival found his voice. _I wish I could be watching that- I'm sure it's precious._

He licked his lips. "It started just in my back- I fell during training yesterday. I thought it was a simple aftershock and didn't think much of it." Elam was nodding along to his words, encouraging him to continue.

Arslan described the events of the last day in as much detail as he was able, watching with concern as the crease between Elam's brows deepened when he described the timing of the pains.

"They're to the point of being less than three minutes ap-" he suddenly choked on his words as the agony returned. This time, Elam was prepared for it, and didn't panic upon seeing him curl in on himself tightly. The glimpse Arslan caught of him showed the boy was watching him carefully, if not with controlled worry.

 _Gods_ , did this one hurt. He had experienced several unfortunate kinds of pain throughout his short life, but they all paled in comparison to this- it was excruciating. He was on fire, and the chill evening air stung as it hit his exposed face and neck.

Sheer determination stayed his voice, kept him from screaming and crying and cursing; it couldn't stop him from hissing, though, and his hands couldn't seem to stay away from his stomach, cradling it as though this could ease the all-encompassing pain.

"Stay with me, Your Majesty," Elam's calm voice cut through the haze and, remembering the other boy was there, Arslan thoughtlessly reached for him. A hand was placed in his shaking one and he squeezed it with all of his might, whole body squirming as the pain reached a nearly unbearable peak- his legs braced widely against the ground of their own accord, heels digging forcefully into the stone.

He was almost certain he would lose consciousness, so close to the cusp already and being pushed forcefully by the agony locked around him. It was unending, relentless! Surely it had been over a minute by now- why was it not stopping?

Terrified out of his mind, Arslan opened his mouth and choked out a cry. He couldn't breathe! All of the air was gone, and no matter how hard he breathed, nothing seemed to reach his lungs. He was suffocating.

 _I'm going to die._

...And then, suddenly, it was receding. His throat burned, his face was fiery hot, his hips felt painfully full and all of his limbs quaked, but he was still alive and he could breathe again and in that moment all he could do was thank Mithra over and over for her small mercies.

His grip had relaxed on Elam's hand, and the brunet carefully extracted himself from it before crawling closer and cupping both sides of Arslan's face, tilting it until they were eye-to-eye. "Are you still with me, Majesty?" he asked cautiously, angling Arslan's head so that his eyes caught the torchlight and watching their responsiveness clinically.

The smaller boy breathed a panting, shuddering breath and nodded minutely, hardly able to focus with his thoughts still rushing as they were. His face was released and he dropped his chin exhaustedly to his chest, trying to slow his racing lungs.

Elam seemed a bit conflicted before speaking again. "That was only two minutes after the other one, and it lasted about one minute. It was also noticeably stronger."

Even though no response was required, Arslan nodded his agreement.

"...I also noticed that one of your first instincts was to tent your legs."

Confused, not really remembering much of that ordeal, Arslan opened one eye- when had he closed them?- and peered at his friend in his periphery. "What?" he croaked.

A few seconds of silence. "Can I lift up your tunic?"

… "What?"

"I need to see your stomach. I want to know if there's bruising."

Bruising. Reasonable enough. Still, Arslan's heart skipped a beat and he fought to keep himself calm. "I… suppose…"

Carefully, and going against his every trained-in instinct, he pushed the hem of his long tunic up until his fingers brushed his bottom ribs. He didn't go any further.

The young king felt terribly exposed like this, his secret so close to being discovered, the bandages just inches away from his uncovered stomach. His bare skin was on full display, making him shiver slightly- and not just from the cold.

"No colors- so that's a good sign, at least." But his tone sounded distracted, and troubled, like that hadn't been his true concern at all. Arslan hadn't missed the small, almost inaudible gasp Elam had made when he'd pulled up the tunic. He knew there was more on his friend's mind.

"Be honest with me, Elam."

"Highness?"

Arslan swallowed thickly, trying to soothe his sore throat. When he met Elam's eyes, the other boy's expression gave away his thoughts.

"You have a theory. Tell me- even if it's distressing, I want to know." He could take any diagnosis, so long as it finally brought answers- he wanted desperately to know why he was here, propped against a stable door, dressed in his poorest clothes, tired, in pain, shivering in the night air and relying so awfully much on Elam. The situation was absolutely uncomfortable at best. How had he gotten to this point?

Elam sighed, crossing his arms over his chest and pursing his lips. He opened his mouth, closed it, then finally decided to speak. "I do… however, it's rather far-fetched and I'd like to examine you further before I draw any sort of conclusion," he said, stumbling awkwardly over the words before ending with finality. He, too, was uncomfortable, although his reasons seemed to be different from Arslan's- the king could only begin to guess what was running through the brunet's mind.

Before Arslan could reply, the boy continued, "If I've timed this right, another one should be coming soon- please keep your tunic up."

* * *

 **Whaaat? This is way late? I dunno what you're talking about.**

 ***Another note I should've included in the very first A/N: medical knowledge is a bit more advanced than the time period should allow. But hey, this is an alternate world and magic exists, so anything's possible- including someone figuring this shit out earlier. ~Lazy excuse is lazy~**

 ***I think Elam in particular would take on medical "training" were he given the opportunity, the opportunity here being full use of a very advanced kingdom's library. He's kind of a mother hen, and clearly likes being of use to the ones he cares about.**

 **-With Narsus I think it would be more of an intellectual motivation- to broaden his knowledge.**

 **Thank you for your continued readership and support! Next chapter will be up on Sunday!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry for the delay- technical difficulties.**

 **Welcome back! Hope you've enjoyed the story thus far!**

 **Again, this story touches on gender issues- how one is thought of by others, biological sex, et cetera. None of this is from a political or opinionated standpoint- just a plot point I found interesting to write. Also please don't let the pronouns confuse you.**

 **Anyways, onward!**

* * *

Elam could tell that Arslan was struggling to stay composed- his refusal to look down at his own exposed stomach showed an anxiety he was determined to hide. It didn't have to do with an injury he was squeamish about- the (blindingly) pale skin was unbroken, unbruised, without blemish.

No, whatever was upsetting His Majesty, it likely had to do with the concept of being even partially unclothed- Elam had never seen Arslan in anything less than one full layer of clothing.

That is, aside from the one accidental moment that had revealed the reason behind it.

 _Seventeen, sixteen…_

"If I've timed this right, another one should be coming soon- please keep your tunic up." The king's big blue eyes were round as he stared at Elam, taken aback by his words.

"How are you cer-" _Clack._

Elam blinked- he'd been as precise as possible in timing this, meaning that it was unlikely he'd made a mistake by such a large margin. _This one is early._

Watching the white-haired boy in the throes of crippling pain was both unbearable and oddly fascinating; unbearable because Arslan was so kind and good and was probably the last person in existence to deserve this agony, and fascinating because Elam had never seen him in such pain before- instead of the tears and sobs he'd half-expected, there was an almost angry look to Arslan's face as he clenched his eyes shut and bared his teeth.

He briefly wondered if that kind of response was natural or learned.

He studied the other boy's stomach carefully as the pain appeared to increase- still alarmed by the miniscule but very present dome shape it had taken on, even when his muscles relaxed. Now, though, it was more apparent as the minimal amount of loose skin was tightened around it, and he could just barely see the muscles underneath contracting in a very concentrated pattern.

Spittle flew from between Arslan's teeth as he struggled to breathe, the noises escaping him getting more guttural and desperate as he tried and failed to keep quiet.

Again Elam placed his hand on his friend's hard stomach, hoping Arslan was too distracted by the pain to be embarrassed. His searching touch found that same strange firmness as before, laced with the faint throbbing of abused muscles.

 _What else can this be?_ He searched his mind for any explanations besides the one that doggedly stayed in the forefront, but was unsuccessful. _But it wouldn't even make sense- look at how small his stomach is!_

Still, he couldn't dismiss it. The strangely precise timing of the pains kept bothering him- there was _nothing_ to explain that away.

He knew exactly what this was- it was just hard to accept.

Thirty seconds or so into it, Arslan's walls were starting to drop. He whimpered between hyperventilating breaths which soon turned into a prolonged moan as he clutched his stomach. His small shoulders undulated wildly with each breath and his hair was slipping out of its ponytail, falling in long white waves to hang over his sweaty, flushed face.

Elam was caught between the desire to run for help and the determination to stay by the King's side- he knew he was hardly knowledgeable enough for this, and yet he couldn't bear to leave Arslan alone in this condition. But what option did he have?

It would be at least another quarter hour before anyone came to check in on them- Arslan was an accomplished fighter after such rigorous training and battlefield experience, Elam was a skilled archer and deadly with his dagger, and the royal stables were within the castle's heavily-guarded gates, situated very closely to the castle itself; Elam was entrusted with guarding His Majesty when they went out to the stables like this, and they were both always armed and cautious.

They were trusted to take care of themselves.

Several guards used to watch over them, but Arslan had, rather confusingly, forcefully rejected the extra protection one day just weeks after being brought back.

It became less confusing as he intently watched their retreating backs, the sunlight glinting off of their armor, with a haunted look on his face. The tension didn't leave his shoulders until they were out of sight.

After that incident it took several carefully calm debates to convince Arslan that having a guard silently check on them every half-hour was a reasonable compromise. He often seemed to forget that a king's movements were much more closely watched than a prince's.

 _And now where does that leave us?_

Elam was beginning to lose his grip on his carefully-constructed calm. _What would happen if I yelled? Are there any guards close enough to hear? Do I risk causing further panic for His Highness? When would it start bringing harm to them?_

 _-Is he already panicking too much? His breathing is so erratic, and who knows what shape his inner body is in? Gods, he looks_ awful _._

 _What do I_ do _?_

 _Perhaps he can come with me? But could I even expect him to be able to walk at this point? I don't know if I can carry him the whole way. Is it_ safe _to move him? I have to get him to someone who can do this, but I'm not sure we could make it inside before-_

He clenched his hand into a fist until his nails were digging into the flesh of his palms. The pain shocked him from his enveloping thoughts and he was able to focus. _No. Stop. I_ must _keep a level head. Arslan and his child are depending on me. Now, what would Lord Narsus do in this situation?_

"E-Elam-!"

His eyes snapped back up to Arslan's face.

If he'd had any doubts of his possible diagnosis, the next ten seconds completely negated them.

Arslan's breathing picked up a notch.

He threw his head back against the stall door with a sickening _thunk_.

His arms tightened around his middle, fingers bent into desperate claws clutching at his own flesh, leaving angry red marks in their wake.

His legs stiffened and tented, and he lifted his hips ever-so-slightly as he let out a sudden, sharp cry.

And finally, Elam watched, stunned, as the thighs of Arslan's white, dirt-stained trousers were soaked through. Surely Arslan would be mortified by this, but all Elam could focus on was the clear color and lack of the scent that should have accompanied it. Then he saw the tinges of blood.

A distant memory of his mother's excited voice rang in his ears: _Her waters have broken! It's nearly time!_ Vaguely followed by Aylin's grumbling: _No need to be so damn happy over my sufferin'._ It sent a pang through his chest. Whether this was Mithra's intervention or his own mind finally catching up, he wasn't sure. But this fragment of a thought had brought his muddied thoughts to clarity.

 _I_ do _know what to do, and I have entirely my mother to thank._ As was the case with many other things.

Arslan was giving birth, and, if there was no other option, he _could_ help.

With the way he'd forced himself to think, he had somehow hypnotized himself into mostly believing Arslan was a boy. He'd always referred to and thought of his friend as male, if only because it was a deeply-ingrained habit that the keeping of Arslan's secret had required him to keep.

But while he thought of Arslan as a boy while knowing intellectually that he was female, and that Arslan was giving birth, he'd somehow neglected the bridge of logic stating that Arslan was _actually a girl_ , and couldn't be giving birth otherwise. He'd been looking at this from a fundamentally wrong standpoint and it had put him in a place of subconscious _this is horrible and unnatural and I have no idea how to help._

When he really reprocessed the truth of it all, everything was suddenly much less daunting- because kings didn't give birth, but _girl_ -kings were _made_ to do it. Just as with Esana, he wasn't to control the process; all he had to do was let the female body do what it was created to do, and help where he could.

And now a new thought, one that should have been there from the very beginning, as though it had been patiently waiting for its fellows to be resolved before finally stepping forward. _My friend is in labor._

 _My friend has been pregnant this whole time._

The immediate question was _how_? _He's clearly not aware of it, isn't expecting it as a possibility, hasn't mentioned it to anyone… Has never spoken of taking a lover, or given any clues of secretly doing so, and yet somehow..._

His gaze went back to Arslan's face as the boy gasped sharply- his kind face was twisted and frozen in an expression of such severe agony that Elam was surprised he wasn't screaming by now. Clearly the pains had gotten worse quite suddenly.

And then it was gone again. The pale boy went limp, breath leaving him in a loud whoosh.

"Your Majesty…?" Elam chanced, putting a gentle hand on Arslan's shoulder. His friend's whole body was shaking.

"What…" Arslan breathed, opening his eyes and fixing them dazedly on Elam's face, "what is happening to me?"

"Well..."

How to tell him? Elam was absolutely certain he knew what was happening now, as there was no mistaking the signs, not when he'd seen them before. But he wasn't sure if Arslan would be convinced- he didn't have enough information to predict how this news would be taken.

Again, this begged the question of _how_ the girl-king had gotten pregnant, and this thought would not leave Elam alone. Arslan was completely dedicated to his people, working himself to the bone on their behalf- besides being too exhausted at the end of each day, it seemed rather out of character for him to take some sort of secret lover that not even his closest friends knew of. Not only did Arslan give no indication that he desired such a connection at this point in his young life, but this offered Pars no advantage, working towards no goal besides personal pleasure. In fact, it could put Pars at a great disadvantage, should a lover make use of Arslan's secret, or the rumor mill catch wind of King Arslan taking a man to his bed.

Hell, it was easier to imagine him arranging a loveless political marriage for himself- if he thought it would benefit the people of Pars, he would do it. Even his form of taking a break- for which he barely gave himself time regardless- was based in hard work and helping others. He could never let himself feel _too_ self-serving.

So this simply didn't make _sense._

 _Unless…_

He froze. Only for a moment, of course, lest the king become alarmed, but all the same he could not stop the brief tension from touching him.

Because the thought was so alarming, so rotten to its core. He didn't dare consider it…

Nonetheless, he did. It was plausible, really, more than likely. It explained so much, filled in so many blank spaces.

He'd been wondering what had happened during Arslan's forced time away.

And now he wished he didn't know.

 _I have my answers,_ he interrupted his thought process, forcing his anger, his horror, his fear into a deep ravine. He could not let them take control- this was not the time for honest discussion of past traumas.

He exhaled through his nose, trying to regather his fortitude. His mind could not wander again.

Now, how was he supposed to address this? What was he to say to his best friend as he lay on the stable floor, fearing for his life and oblivious to the secret his own body had hidden from him for months?

Elam, all of fifteen years old, was suddenly in charge of a situation that could get dangerous very quickly if he acted incorrectly.

Starting with breaking the news to the mother-to-be.

Arslan was calmer, breaths slowly quieting from heavy panting to measured draws. His eyes darted back and forth between an expectant look at Elam and a quick glance at his hands as he focused on removing his gloves. The fingers of the right hand grasped at the fingers of the left, easing the fingertips of the glove up before pulling it completely off, dropping it carelessly to the floor with a dull _thack_. The other followed shortly after, Arslan wiping his sweaty hands on his trouser legs.

A moment later the king went red, finally seeming to notice the dampness of his trousers and looking intensely at Elam, likely horrified that he'd seen it. Elam graciously pretended not to have noticed, now looking at the door behind his friend's left shoulder while he came up with the proper words.

His voice didn't want to cooperate with him, coming out in quiet stutters despite his efforts to sound self-assured. "You're... I do know what's happening, but it's going to be hard to believe," he warned, chancing eye contact. Arslan had sneakily closed his legs and, still red-faced, swallowed and nodded bravely for him to continue, bolstering Elam's courage, and he finally took a breath and said it bluntly. "You're pregnant- and in labor."

All was quiet for several seconds, even the horses seeming to sense the tense atmosphere.

"... _What?"_

* * *

Neither boy noticed the lithe figure leaping silently down from the stable's roof, nor did they hear the retreating footsteps spiriting the figure away.

* * *

He'd expected shock, maybe upset, possibly anger at Elam knowing his secret without Arslan himself telling him- but not this.

"If this is a joke, Elam, I am not amused!" Arslan spat, voice saturated with vitriol. "How _dare_ you insinuate-! I am not a woman, therefore I cannot- cannot _bear children_ ," he said it like a foul curse, "and while you are lying to my face, _I am in_ _pain!_ How- how-" he seemed close to hyperventilating again, his eyes blazing as Elam had rarely seen them. He was truly _angry_. "Why do you insult me with this nonsense, and now, of all times? You're my _friend_! Why would you do something so cruel?"

Elam ignored the way his heart ached.

The other boy's reaction seemed rather excessive, considering the bigger picture. Yes, Arslan had an image to uphold. But, since Arslan knew that he _was_ a female, and that it _was_ possible and highly likely that he was in labor, and that he didn't have much time, he should know that angrily ranting and trying to continue his lie would only waste that time- it would be more practical to accept the diagnosis, get through the birth, and deal with the complicated aftermath once mother and child were safe and healthy.

Then again, maybe the pain had clouded the king's judgment- Elam couldn't fault him for it.

Or, if he had gotten pregnant the way Elam… _thought_ he had, then perhaps his mind had blocked out the memories of the ordeal and Arslan had no reason to believe he could be pregnant at all.

He patiently waited for an opening, and kept his voice even as he spoke. "Your Majesty, all due respect, but you know what I say is true. Please, I beg you to see reason- I would never make light of something like this."

Thankfully, while Arslan's temper was something powerful to behold when summoned, it was also equally able to be reasoned with if one just knew the right places to press. The genuine concern in Elam's voice quieted his tirade substantially, although the intensity of Arslan's gaze didn't escape Elam's notice. The smaller boy stared deep into his eyes, having more of an effect on him than if Arslan had been towering over him- he couldn't look away from those haunted night skies.

When Arslan finally spoke, his voice was deceptively even- years of royal training shining through. "What, exactly, has you so convinced of the impossible?"

Pulling in a breath, Elam thought carefully over what he would say. "The pains you're feeling- they're contractions. Your muscles are visibly moving upwards, like this," he held up both hands sideways, curled his fingers slightly, and moved them slightly up and closer to each other. "That's not something you see outside of labor. The decreasing time between them is unique to childbirth as well. The fluid," he gestured to Arslan's soiled trousers, pretending not to notice how mortified the paler boy was, "is from the womb. It breaks free shortly before the child does."

He could read it on the other's face- Arslan did _not_ want to argue that point, no matter how much he wanted to deny all of this; after all, his options were to either admit that Elam was right, or to pretend that he had wet himself.

The fierce downturn of Arslan's mouth indicated Elam had won that particular point, although it also bespoke a stubborn determination to stand his ground in all else.

Sure enough, his reply was a tense, "You are most convincing. However," and his hands curled into fists at this, "I am a _boy_."

And he actually _meant_ it. Elam stared back at him, stunned into silence.

Arslan's face crumpled then, breath hitching. He leaned forward from the door, several strands of hair stuck on splinters in the wood, and he _screamed_.


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks so much for your continued support, my amazing readers!**

 **~And thank you for your review, Lyma! Reading it made _my_ day :D ~**

 **So, this chapter is physically devoid of our favorite cinnamon roll, but it still revolves around him regardless, don't worry fam.**

 **Anyway, on with the story!**

* * *

Daryun and Narsus were discussing Arslan, as they often seemed to.

It wasn't that they never had other things to talk about- such as Narsus' latest painting that had only made _two_ small children cry this time, or Daryun's concerns that Alfreed was planning to sabotage Elam's cooking judging by the mischievous glint in her eye, or even, had they more wine in them, memories of their sometimes-undignified exploits in young adulthood- but sometimes their admittedly overprotective sides flared up and would not allow friendly, normal conversation between them until their particularly stubborn, particularly worrying duckling was back in the row. So there they sat, wishing they had partaken of more wine and had less to worry about, and they spoke about their beloved, frustrating King- more exactly, his strange behavior.

"I worry for him- he's not eating again," Daryun was saying softly, leaning forward to prop his elbows on his knees. He'd stayed close by but out of sight during Arslan's dinner with the nobles, and had watched as the king's plate went completely untouched. "He's been doing so well these past few months, and I'd hate to see him regress again."

Anything was better than looking into those sapphire eyes and seeing a deadness where once there was a passionate flame. It had taken so much work, so much time to put the spark back in those eyes.

Things were just starting to return to the way they had been.

Narsus sighed inaudibly, tucking his hands into his sleeves. "There isn't much we can do- we can't force him to eat, and we certainly can't force him to speak about a topic he finds unpalatable. Our wisest option for now is to be here for him as we have always been, and to make sure that he knows it." The torchlight cast half his face in shadow, making him look older and wearier.

In the nearly eight months they'd had Arslan back in the fold, he had yet to say anything about what had happened to him during his absence. If the topic was broached, no matter how gently, the boy would close off and the light in his eyes- precious and alive and so very fragile- would be gone. Sometimes he'd refuse to eat for several hours, but usually he just stopped talking and spent some time alone before he was ready to socialize again.

Gieve was about as open with what he knew- he'd been the one to carry out the opportunistic, unplanned and unexpected rescue, and he barely said a word.

He'd returned from a trip to Tuuri with Arslan, drugged and clad in a very sexualized, very _female_ few articles of clothing, in tow. Daryun had intercepted the man as he tried to sneak Arslan in through a back entrance of the castle, and so he too saw- nothing of the teen's body was left to the imagination, and while Arslan was apparently too out of it to remember, Daryun now knew what the young king hid.

And of course he knew, deep down, what had happened to the boy. With the way he'd been dressed, there was no way something like that _hadn't_ happened.

However, other than that, Daryun and the others knew virtually nothing about the king's mysterious two-month disappearance.

His captors? _Nothing to worry about anymore,_ Gieve assured, sharp teeth bared in a hard smirk.

What of his abductors? _Far out of our reach,_ Gieve lamented.

Why Arslan? _That hardly matters now._

Did they really- _you already know the answer._

What else did they- _I wasn't the one they bought, how should I know?_

… Do you think they'll come back for him? The abductors? _Oh,_ Gieve hummed with dangerous cheer, fingers brushing his bow and his eyes blazing with predatory ferocity, _I await that day eagerly._

And while that wasn't the information he'd been looking for, Daryun found himself grateful all the same.

 _Tap tap tap tap._ Lost in thought, Daryun bounced his leg in agitation, the heel of his boot clacking against the stone ground. Narsus shot him a look and he ceased, dousing the room in uneasy silence.

"His Highness was in pain yesterday," Narsus suddenly posited, making Daryun break his intense stare from the floor and look to him, concerned. The man flicked his long hair over his shoulder. "Couldn't you see it? There was a moment where he went very stiff and held his breath. Perhaps an injury?" he mused.

Daryun shook his head, golden eyes wide. "None that I was aware of- he fell during training a few hours before then, but there was no damage done. Could his sickness have caused it? That had been my assumption at the time."

"I suppose- it was still… off, however." The blonde man's brows were furrowed in the way they did when there was a missing puzzle piece that he was trying to find. "The way he moved suggested something was wrong with his stomach- but, again, only every so often. Other times he seemed completely fine."

"Most likely a passing illness- and perhaps that explains his poor appetite as well."

"I suppose so."

"... You sound unconvinced. Was there something else you had in mind?"

Narsus was leaning tiredly against the windowsill, backlit by the large moon. Daryun knew the day had been particularly trying for him.

"Simply a wish to have examined him by now. Elam and I have been studying the healers' scrolls and I'm quite confident I could diagnose what ails His Highness." Not to mention living in solitude for years had given those two more medical expertise than most of their ilk.

"Why have you not, then?"

A small sigh. "I fear we've both been quite busy; each time I tried to offer my aid, something would pull one of us away."

"You could have stopped him before he went off to the stables," Daryun argued. "That's a personal activity, not a royal one."

Narsus smiled slightly, although it was hardly genuine. "King Arslan has been severely overworking himself lately- I think it's starting to affect him."

Daryun nodded, remembering the harsh bruising under the boy's eyes signalling a lack of decent sleep. _That, if not sickness, could explain his feebleness in training yesterday._ "I had noticed."

He was trying to coax Arslan into allowing himself more leeway in his desperate attempts to live up to the monumental standards set for him since he was a child, but those toxic seeds had been so deeply planted that Daryun's efforts were getting him nowhere. All he could do was _try_ and still Arslan was suffering.

"So," Narsus continued, "I cannot in good conscience tear him away from doing something he _enjoys_. Were I given more reason to worry about his immediate wellbeing, I would have stepped in- however, while I am concerned, I'm not convinced he's in danger. I suppose it can wait until tomorrow."

After seeing how thrilled Arslan was to be allowed to care for Shabrang, it wasn't hard to understand Narsus' dilemma. The boy somehow found stablework enjoyable, and used it as a form of stress relief- something he definitely needed.

This conversation had done nothing to ease his constant worries, and yet Daryun couldn't help the fond twitch of his lips. "I appreciate your efforts, Narsus."

His friend nodded in affirmation, turning his gaze to the moon and the stars. From the set of his head Daryun could tell he was planning his next painting- hopefully to be created far away from wandering eyes.

They sat in companionable silence for a while, the only sounds the crackling of the torches and the calls of nocturnal birds from outside. The firelight danced erratically, glinting wildly off of every surface and yet somehow still having a calming effect on the room at large.

Daryun pondered on this, but his musings didn't distract him enough for his ears to miss the light footsteps speeding down the hall- he was already rising from his seat when the door opened and a deceptively calm-looking Gieve stepped in.

He and Narsus had chosen this room to speak in because its window overlooked the stables; they'd learned that Arslan now became easily overwhelmed when he felt he was being too closely guarded, so, as much as it pained Daryun, they kept a bit of distance while still faithfully keeping watch.

(This didn't stop him from requesting that Gieve or Jaswant keep an eye on the boys, however, or from having a few extra guards patrolling the grounds without drawing attention to themselves- discomfort or not, Arslan was so very important to them all and they weren't willing to risk his safety.)

Even though Narsus hadn't reported any out-of-place sights and neither had heard any cries for help, the marzban couldn't help feeling a pang of anxious fear at what news had the minstrel nearly sprinting to find them.

"Pardon my intrusion," Gieve said smoothly, ducking his head. When he lifted it again there was a trademark easygoing smile on his face, although the corners of his eyes were tight. "It appears our king has gotten himself into a fair bit of trouble."

He'd barely spoken the words before the two were upon him, albeit one with less violence in his steps.

"What kind of trouble?" Daryun demanded.

Gieve lifted his shoulders and tilted his head with an innocent blink. He shot a significant look at Narsus, who was staring intently back with his chin in his hand, then back to Daryun. "It isn't my place to go telling His Highness's secrets," he said pointedly, "but I shall say that my eye is indeed better than you thought, Daryun."

The cryptic answer visibly left Narsus confused, but Daryun felt all of the blood leave his face as the memory from months earlier slammed into him.

" _Her Highness seems particularly ill today," the minstrel observed from the doorway, leaning against the door with one hip, arms crossed over his chest._

 _Daryun, standing nearby, elbowed him. "The king doesn't need your careless words right now," he scolded, eyes narrowed. He wouldn't match Gieve and refer to Arslan that way- to ensure he never slipped up and called the king 'she' when he clearly wanted his secret to be kept, Daryun made sure he still thought of Arslan as a male._

 _(Not to mention years of knowing Prince Arslan, the effeminate and small but strong and determined_ boy _, didn't simply vanish upon realizing Arslan was a girl- it was hard to think of him otherwise after so long.)_

 _Gieve, barely affected, said nothing in reply, turning his gaze back to the scene before them: Arslan, laying on his side in his bed, propped up on one arm and leaning over the chamber pot being steadied by his other hand, vomiting into it harshly. His handmaiden was seated beside him, holding his sweaty, tangled hair out of his face and whispering comforts to him. The king looked absolutely miserable, pale and shivering and breathing heavily. He finally pulled away from the chamber pot and the maid helped him lower it to the ground, hand rubbing at the boy's back still._

 _Daryun had come to see why he had yet to make it to training. Gieve had been wandering the castle and tagged along, much to the marzban's annoyance._

 _Now, Gieve's catlike eyes slid lazily to look at Daryun. "You saw what they had her wearing," he said quietly, going unheard by the two on the other side of the large chambers. "You know what they had her there for." It wasn't a question, and the confident tone had Daryun's teeth grinding. The mere insinuation of such a thing happening to his charge was enough to boil his blood- and Gieve speaking of it so nonchalantly had his hands itching to reach out and wring his throat._

 _When he looked fully at the musician, though, his ire ebbed at the sight of his face- the softness that hadn't been there before, the concealed concern in his eyes as he watched Arslan shakily rise to sit upright, only to lean forward and rest his forehead against his servant's shoulder in a moment of childlike weakness. The woman broke many unspoken protocols and wrapped her arms around the teen, pressing a kiss to his sweaty head and continuing to croon comfortingly._

 _Gieve murmured under his breath, "Have you considered that she's likely-"_

" _No," Daryun interrupted just as quietly, knowing_ exactly _what he'd been about to say. The thought had crossed his mind as well, but he stubbornly fought it away. "We don't know for certain what happened to him- and he refuses to speak of it. So we will not make assumptions." He met Gieve's eye, and for a moment neither said anything._

 _Then Gieve turned on his heel, saying, with a dismissive hand wave, "Keep an eye on her these coming months. You might find I have a better eye for these things than you think." And with that he disappeared down the hall._

Swallowing hard, Daryun forced his complicated emotions into a corner and put his battlefield decisiveness into effect. "Fetch Farangis- we'll need her." The musician nodded and turned heel. Daryun turned back to his companion. "Narsus-" but he stopped short, wondering what he should divulge, before deciding that his friend was better off knowing- he continued as though he hadn't stopped, "with me. There are some things I need to tell you."

The blonde's expression was somewhere between determination and concern, and he easily fell into step beside his friend as they sped to the stairs.

As concisely as he could, Daryun told him.

 _Forgive me, Your Highness._

Moments later, a scream split the air.

* * *

 **Next chapter should be up next Sunday, but I can't guarantee.**


	6. Chapter 6

**I'm still alive! Thank you all for your patience and your continued readership!**

 **Also, special thanks to my reviewers!**

 **To Lyma: Your reviews always cheer me up! I'm glad you're so into my story so far! And as for your questions... I guess you'll have to wait and see how it plays out. *evil cackle***

 **To Trunks: Yay! I'm so happy that you like it! :D And you have similar wishes to mine, actually! I'm considering a future story delving into an actual relationship between them, but for now it's mostly the awkward situation of 'wow you're really sweet and attractive and I'm a teenage boy but you're also under the guise of a teenage boy so let's keep things platonic for sanity's sake'. (But I most definitely ship it). Also, on the subject of twins.. I've considered it, and would love to incorporate it, but I think not showing at all while carrying twins is a bit of a stretch (pun intended). As for the child, I'm not going to give away what it is. *further evil cackling* Thanks for the review!**

 **Now, without further ado, please enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

His entire world was agony.

Arslan was certain he had never felt anything this horrible in his life; his body was ablaze with the pain of being impaled over and over again, his stomach tightened to such an extreme degree that he wondered if his organs would be crushed from the force of it.

The pain had multiplied tenfold since last time- where before it had been kept partially at bay by the strange ball of pressure, he now felt every inch of it unimpeded.

He vaguely registered a hand being placed in his, and, anger completely forgotten, he grabbed it and squeezed. It didn't help relieve the pain, but it did ground him in reality and the supportive gesture provided some comfort.

He realized his legs were spread widely apart, and couldn't remember when he'd done that. His teeth were grinding against each other so forcefully that his jaw ached. His neck was starting to cramp from the awkward angle he was at.

"Breathe," a blessedly calm voice coached, and he released the breath he had trapped within his throbbing lungs. _When did I start holding it?_

The voice continued to encourage, and while he could hardly make out the words through the white-hot embers in his head, he appreciated the soft, firm sound.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the giant invisible fist released its grip on his weary body and he went completely limp, mind blank.

A gentle hand pushed sweat-soaked fringe from his face and he leaned into the grounding touch.

 _How much longer can I survive like this? Whatever it is, it's tearing me apart from the inside. Is there anything that can be done at this point? Am I to die an excruciating death when I've yet to prove myself to my people? O Goddess, do you take joy in my pain?_

It felt like the gods were looking down upon his pitiful form and laughing at his misfortune- maybe he wasn't destined for anything after all. Farangis sometimes mentioned that Mithra looked upon him with favor, and that with each of his steps toward the future, the djinn sang; perhaps he'd become too prideful and assumed this meant more than it truly did. Maybe he was only a vessel of the Goddess for so long before she grew weary of his many shortcomings.

But he didn't want to die. There were so many things he had left to do, so many people he couldn't bear to leave behind. The others had fought hard to keep him safe and to bring him to this point- he couldn't let their efforts be in vain. Etoile had given her life so that he could live, and by doing so she had placed a value upon him that he couldn't possibly betray.

The slender fingers were now carding through his hair as their owner let out a sigh. "You're going to be alright, Highness, I give you my word," Elam promised softly. In the quiet of the aftermath the atmosphere could almost be considered peaceful.

Surprised that the other had read him so easily, Arslan forced his eyes open and focused on the familiar face just inches from his own. He saw the openness of the expression and knew Elam was being genuine- but he hadn't doubted that.

Still, the words did surprisingly well in calming his racing heart. Elam didn't make promises like that lightly, and he always stood by his word. It was something Arslan couldn't help but admire. He forced himself to smile.

"Are you certain you'll be alright by yourself?" came an unexpected voice from the open doorway, making him jump. Rami was standing at attention, spear clutched tightly in hand, concerned.

Elam, apparently continuing a conversation Arslan had been too preoccupied to hear, nodded and made a dismissing motion. "He's not in any immediate danger, but I could use Lord Narsus' assistance, and that of Daryun and Farangis as well." Arslan swore he could feel his heart stop beating. "Just tell them it's urgent, and that I'll explain upon their arrival." Rami bowed his head in understanding and dashed off to the castle. Arslan could vaguely hear his armor clinking with each step.

"Now," Elam continued, turning back to Arslan, "we need to be smart about this so no harm can come to you or the child. Can-"

"Stop _saying_ that!" Arslan interrupted, gut coiling like a snake. He _needed_ his friend to stop pushing there; at each mention his thoughts would scream in such a cacophonous way that he wasn't sure he could control them anymore.

Elam seemed slightly surprised by the outburst, slim brows drawing together. In the poor lighting his eyes seemed like dark, endless wells as they bored into his own. "Your Highness, this isn't the time to argue a point we both know is untrue."

"I am _not_ \- I'm-" his breaths, just starting to slow, were now racing once more. He felt cornered, face burning with shame and anger and frustration as Elam continued to prod at a spot where he'd revealed himself as vulnerable.

"King Arslan, please listen to me!" _Shame._

He shook his head wildly. "No!"

"We don't have time to argue on this." _Shame._ "Please just-"

"I said _no_!"

"You are a woman, Your Highness. You need to-" _SHAME!_ Arslan's heart skipped a beat and he could hear the blood rushing in his ears. He clamped his eyes shut, hands grabbing fistfuls of his hair and pulling; the pain did nothing to distract him from this new agony. "I am _NOT!_ " he shrieked. "I'm a boy! I'm a boy!" Something inside his mind _snapped_ and a flood came rushing forth- a forgotten past, made up of hidden memories that brought ghosts of remembered injury to his heated flesh and made his ears ring with words long-ago spoken, tripping over each other with no sense of order.

" _For shame, Arslan!"_

" _You're a little boy, Arslan, and if you say otherwise one more time-"_

" _What was that you said?" The whip's bite against her back._

" _Don't you dare defy me, boy."_

"I'm a boy! I'm a boy!"

" _You bring me shame. Behave like a boy should or you shall soon find yourself in the dungeons."_

" _He_ still _won't learn!"_

" _You mean to tell me you're an imbecile as well? Can you not grasp this concept? You, Prince Arslan, are a_ boy _." Grasping at her stinging cheek._

 _Watching Kadir steal her favorite dress away, shivering in her nakedness. A blessedly warm garment being roughly thrown at her face."Your body is ugly and deformed. Cover it." Sniffling and pulling on the tunic, and not feeling so warm after all._

" _Don't question your king, boy!"_

"I'm sorry!"

"-slan-"

He shrank away from the hand on his shoulder; likely his father, about to dole out another painful punishment. He'd slipped up again, and now he had consequences to face.

" _Stop crying out." The whip being readied for another swing. "You're unbelievably pathetic."_

" _Just listen to your father, Arslan. Stop speaking incorrectly and all will be well." Her heart aching as she realizes she'll find no comfort with Lady Mother._

" _Why is his chest not covered? Handmaiden, get a tunic on him at once!"_

" _I never want to see you flinch like that again- a true man can handle pain."_

 _A loving embrace surrounding her, Mama's shoulders shaking with sobs. "Please, dearest, be a good girl for the King and Queen, now." Being torn away before she can beg to stay._

" _Your name is Arslan. You are a boy." The scariest man she's ever seen, scowling down at her tiny form. "You will learn this quickly, or you will be punished."_

" _For shame, Arslan! Disgusting pest that you are!" A massive hand reaching for him._

 _Please, just leave me alone!_

The grip on his shoulder tightened, breaking the chain of his powerful memories as his mind went blank with sheer panic-

But there was no pain. No shouting. No crack of the dreaded whip. All was still.

The memories started trickling back into the emptiness, small whispers and half-felt sensations and raw, pure emotion. He felt as though something inside of his head had been cracked wide open and memories were slowly seeping out, barely comprehensible as they swirled around each other.

 _Please, leave me alone…_ Could one beg one's own mind? _I'll be good, please just leave me alone…_

Then, in the mingling of rambling ghosts, a sweet voice gently filtered through, a phantom hand caressing his tearstained cheek.

 _Everything is going to be alright, Azure. Mama's here._

"...Oh." Barely a whisper.

The ghost of a loving embrace, surrounding her and soothing her hurting heart. She _remembered._

She _knew_ , and she understood, and she mourned. _Azure._

And, foolishly, she hoped.

As soon as her whimpers quieted, a calm voice said, "Everything is alright, King Arslan. You're safe."

 _Elam_.

She didn't reply- _couldn't_. Her voice was choking her.

Elam continued, "... I can't know exactly what you went through… to make you like _that_. But I think I understand now." The fingers went back to her hair. "You don't need to say anything, or accept what I've said. You don't need to think about any of that right now. All I need you to do is trust me and do as I ask. I'll be right here with you. I'm going to get you through this."

 _We're going to get through this._

Opening her puffy eyes, King Arslan slowly sat up straighter and wiped the tears from her face. When she finally met Elam's eyes, she saw only compassion; the usual aversion to anything heartfelt and uncomfortable was gone.

When she didn't say anything still, Elam extended a hand. His mouth curved into a confident smile that couldn't possibly be as genuine as it looked. "What do you say, Highness? Do you trust me?"

Arslan didn't hesitate. She took the hand. "I do."

* * *

The King's small hand was unusually warm, Elam noticed. Normally Arslan ran cold.

He was about to speak, but the sudden trepidation on Arslan's face told him to hold his tongue. The trepidation morphed into agony and the grip on his hand grew painfully tight- another contraction had taken hold.

Elam took up his comforting mantra once more, murmuring it to unhearing ears and trying to reassure the other boy. He had to stay confident and in control- Arslan couldn't be too stressed. A taxed mind led to a taxed body, and he would need all of his strength.

The pain lasted fifty-eight counts. After his friend's body slumped once more, he counted twenty seconds to allow him to gather his bearings before he continued what he'd been wanting to say.

Taking that precious hand into a firmer grip, he positioned his other hand at the boy's elbow. "We're going to stand you up, alright?"

Arslan's tired blues locked onto his face, and didn't waver. A pale hand reached forward and rested on Elam's shoulder, the touch feather-light, and the King took a shaking breath and nodded wordlessly. The brunet went into action: he planted one foot flat on the ground and carefully pulled his friend forward, rising from his knee to his feet.

Arslan's boots found traction and he was pulled to a stand, clutching at Elam for dear life. Those weak legs held up, but Elam still found himself bearing a significant amount of the other's meager weight, and he didn't mind it at all, glad to be of any help he could.

Especially with that fearful voice echoing in his ears.

" _Please, stop! I'm a boy! I'm a boy! I'm sorry! I'm a boy!"_

'I'm a boy'. Not 'I'm a man'. Even though Elam had called him a woman, Arslan had responded with 'I'm a boy'.

It hadn't been hard to tell the other was trapped in terrible memories, likely from his early youth. From beatings and beratings, it sounded like. A violent push to accept a lie about himself.

Of course Andragoras would want a male heir, and if the only child he could find with pale features was a girl…

 _It's not like it was ever hard to believe Andragoras was a horrible father._

And yet Elam hadn't dared to think that neglect and coldness hadn't been the farthest it went. He should have at least wondered at his friend's oddly meek demeanor- should have wondered if _something_ traumatic had shaped parts of who he was, working as hard as it could to dampen his very strong fighter's spirit.

Perhaps he _had_ noticed, but had never dared to dig any deeper.

 _I'm a fool._

Arslan's eyes went wide and his knees buckled inward, but he didn't fall. He ripped his hand from Elam's bicep and reached down, looking alarmed. "It- it feels like-" he cut off, starting to lower himself to the ground again despite Elam's grip keeping him up.

Forcing his anger to the back of his mind, Elam knelt slightly, bracing his arms under Arslan's and coaxing him to stand again. He knew relatively little about the actual process behind childbirth, but old midwife Amira, a mentor of his mother's, had sworn on every dead family member she had that standing helped move things along more smoothly.

"What, Majesty?" he inquired, curious and concerned.

Arslan had to tilt his head back to make eye contact. Elam often forgot how short he was, despite his small, frail appearance- and there was something disconcerting about looking down so steeply at your king. _This whole situation is disconcerting._

The paler boy bit his lip apprehensively, a blush rising on his cheeks. "It feels like… something is going to fall out of me," he finished quietly, eyes drifting sideways.

An interesting piece of information, Elam supposed. And it would make sense- with a heavy child lodged between one's hips, it would make sense that that weight would push down and cause that sensation.

Not wanting to bring up the child again for fear of starting another episode, he simply said, "That's normal, it's nothing to worry about," even though he had no idea if that was necessarily true. He must have been convincing enough, though, because Arslan nodded faintly and seemed less embarrassed.

He wondered what was going through the king's head; was he thinking about the child? Wondering what it would look like? Despairing over its unfortunate timing? Or was he steadfastly avoiding it, as Elam had offered?

They stood in silence, Arslan's gaze wandering over to the stall he'd been leant against. Knowing what he wanted, Elam carefully shifted them closer so he could see into it.

The sharpness of expression Elam hadn't fully noticed before now melted away from the small boy's face at the sight of the colt nursing, his tail flicking back and forth contentedly. He could see the connections being made in Arslan's mind, and the way he was starting to thaw.

"What will his name be, I wonder?" The shorter boy asked softly, a shy smile fighting its way out.

"I have an idea."

Without missing a beat, Arslan quirked a brow.

Elam smirked. "Aslan." He didn't need to explain further- Arslan's face crumpled in a small but genuine laugh, a welcome change in expression.

"I'm not sure whether I should be honored or offended," the king chuckled hoarsely. He was absently shifting his feet uncomfortably.

"Why, honored, of course!" Elam insisted. "His awkward limbs and blinding paleness inspire awe in a way just secondary to your own, Your Highness."

The sound of hurried footsteps caught his attention and Arslan's retort was cut off as Daryun and Narsus rounded the corner and burst into the main alley of the small building. He could feel Arslan tense up in his arms, but without looking he couldn't tell if it was from pain or anxiety.

"Your Highness!" Daryun breathed, wide-eyed. Arslan tensed further.

The marzban quickly made his way over, Narsus on his heels, but the duo stopped short when Elam held up a hand. The concern on their faces doubled, but they stayed where they were.

Realizing things were unfortunately going to be more difficult with the men's presence, Elam sighed and adjusted his grip on the young king, coaxing Arslan to both focus on him and to lean on him more. The hands slowly moved up to grasp his shoulders and he pulled his hesitant friend closer.

He didn't allow himself to be flustered with the closeness as Arslan's face was nearly in contact with his chest, because the instant Arslan picked up on that they'd be taking ten steps back on the progress they'd made. Right now it was Elam's duty to be the calm, collected one so his friend could rely on him.

His inner panicking needed to _stay_ in.

From the way Arslan was staring over at his guardian, he was panicking as well. Elam too was wondering how they were supposed to explain this. His instant relief upon seeing them had diminished as he realized he'd forgotten something important: the others had no idea that Arslan was even a girl, let alone what was happening now.

"Highness," Elam murmured so that only Arslan could hear. The smaller boy swivelled his head back to face him, a few wisps of hair getting caught on his lips. "What may I tell them?"

Arslan dropped distant eyes to Elam's chest and he deliberated for a few moments. Elam could only begin to imagine what was going through his head.

Finally their eyes met again and he was stunned when the reply was a reluctant, "The truth," Arslan's cheeks burning again.

Perhaps they'd made more progress than he'd originally thought- much more. He knew it was a difficult decision to make, and he respected the king's strength to be able to do so. He was also thrilled that Arslan seemed to have come to terms with the truth himself, although he had no idea how far this acceptance reached.

With a determined nod, he lifted two fingers from his light hold on Arslan's back and signalled the others over.

Five muffled footsteps and his master was suddenly right beside them. "How are you feeling, King Arslan?" he asked carefully. His sharp eyes scanned over them both but gave nothing away.

The white-haired boy released a breath. His gaze drifted to Daryun, hovering beside the painter.

No words were spoken, however. He turned his head and gently rested it against Elam's chest, and just as the brunet was about to ask after him, he felt the desperate tightening of his friend's grip. Another contraction, then.

Narsus didn't repeat himself. And, to Daryun's credit, he fought his obvious urge to try and help and also stood quietly, posture tense.

The next minute passed in silence, aside from the occasional whimper Arslan was unable to hold in.

Figuring it was the best way to go about things, Elam signalled the end of the episode to the others by asking, as soon as those taut muscles eased, "would you like to try moving around?" He'd noticed the restless way Arslan had been shifting his feet earlier.

After a few seconds' delay, a nod.

He was starting to miss that gentle voice.

Elam could feel Daryun and Narsus' gazes like physical weights as he shifted their position yet again, crouching and draping one of Arslan's arms around his shoulders, wrapping an arm cautiously around Arslan's waist and careful to avoid jostling his stomach. "Where is Farangis?"

"Gieve is fetching her."

Arslan eased one foot slightly forward and Elam slowly inched along to keep up. He noticed the king had brought his free arm up to cradle his abdomen.

A glance at Narsus and he could tell the man had noticed as well. They made eye contact and Elam's loyal nature sprang forth, wanting to tell him everything- despite his strong affection for Arslan, his master would always be the person he was closest to.

This also meant that when he searched Narsus' face further, he was able to read rather quickly that he _knew_. The set of his brows wasn't nearly deep enough for the amount of confusion this scene most definitely warranted, and the significant look he shot Elam communicated more than words could.

The common tunic the king wore was long and loose, the sash tied around his hips the only thing pulling the hanging fabric close to the boy's torso. The already minimal size of his pregnancy was completely invisible.

And yet somehow Narsus knew.

Elam cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable as he thought over what he should say, what he should avoid saying, what would be least likely to push Arslan back to hysterics, but was spared when Daryun, seeing his conflict, spoke up.

"We're aware." _Alright, so Daryun knows as well,_ Elam thought with relief. _Maybe they_ can _be of help after all._ This also spared Arslan from having to hear his secrets repeated aloud.

 _If we can just keep him calm and cooperative…_

Elam replied whilst taking another half-step forward. "Good. Now, His Highness would appreciate it if we kept our _observations_ to a minimum," he advised pointedly, tone indicating it would be explained in greater detail later, "and simply do what must be done." Daryun tore his gaze from his king's quiet struggles and gave Elam a surprised, questioning look. Elam made his own expression more stern and the man finally conceded with a tilt of the head.

" _Tssss,"_ Arslan suddenly inhaled sharply, looking down and locking his knees together. Elam's heart rate spiked at the unexpected sound, thoughts starting to race with panic before he reined them back in and tried to logically determine what was happening.

"Your Highness? What's wrong?" It didn't seem like a contraction, and it was too soon for one. Also, the longer Elam watched him the longer it seemed like Arslan wasn't in pain so much as discomfort.

Before them, Daryun had taken a worried step closer, hand hesitantly outstretched but stopping short of its mark, unsure of what to do. His disheveled ponytail had fallen over one shoulder, stray black hairs sticking out in every direction. Already he looked tired, although it wasn't an unusual look for him lately.

They were surprised when instead of whimpering Arslan spoke, forcibly relaxing his tense legs and standing mostly upright again. "How did you know?" he asked the men, tone a mixture of alarm and something else Elam couldn't quite identify. His blue eyes were fixated on Daryun.

The marzban didn't flinch, but his tone was reluctant. "Through no fault of your own, Highness. I simply saw you at the wrong time." He said no more, and Arslan's flushed cheeks got darker even as his expression calmed.

"I see. I suppose I cannot hold against you what you learn by accident." He turned to Narsus, who had moved to his other side and was carefully moving his white hair out of his face- the ribbon had long since been lost on the ground. "And you?"

Narsus' reply was almost casual. "Not much escapes my notice, Highness." He took the ribbon from his own hair and tied Arslan's with it, the style very clearly a mimicry of his own. "I'd seen a few hints here and there over time, and gradually put it together. I've not told a soul."

Daryun's raised brow indicated this wasn't quite how it happened, but Arslan thankfully didn't see that.

Apparently both answers weren't nearly as horrible as the boy had expected, as Elam could feel the extra tension slowly leaving his shoulders. _See, Highness? Nothing to be afraid of with us._

Arslan seemed more normal as he allowed himself a small smile and said, "I suppose I should be reassured that you've proven your skills to be quite impressive, Narsus. You remind me yet again of how fortunate I am to have you on my side."

Narsus smirked, and Daryun rolled his eyes with great vigor. "Now if only he could prove his skills with the brush to be as impressive."

And for just a moment, everything was good; Narsus rolled his eyes good-naturedly and Arslan's surprised laugh escaped from him before he could stop it. The sound was as melodic as it always had been, and yet Elam couldn't help the heat from suddenly rising to his face.

In that moment, it was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard.

Of course, all good moments had to end eventually, and this one was interrupted by Gieve's faint footsteps. The man appeared beside them, looking slightly windswept.

"Farangis is waiting up in Her Majesty's rooms." Arslan's head snapped up at that, fixing a stunned look on the minstrel. Gieve was unapologetic, giving him as warm a smile as he was capable of. "Forgive my manners, Highness, but I've grown tired of lying."

That idea was rather comical, Elam thought privately. Gieve had no problems lying whenever it suited his needs.

Apparently catching this line of thought, Gieve gave him an amused look. "A lie to hide beauty is something I cannot, in good conscience, continue," he explained.

Arslan said nothing to this, caught in a breathless stare.

"I've warned you before," Daryun growled, stepping closer to Arslan protectively, "not to speak thus. His Highness wishes to be referred to as our king, and you will show him his due respect." Elam found himself nodding in agreement- Arslan clearly wasn't ready to instantly take on his female identity, having been violently trained not to for most of his childhood. That kind of trauma wasn't simply going to vanish overnight.

Suddenly Arslan's arm over Elam's shoulders tensed around him exponentially, but this time it wasn't a display of emotion. Elam's gaze lowered to his friend's face to find his eyes squeezed shut and his teeth bared. He was again in pain.

Elam rubbed at his side comfortingly, able to feel the bandages underneath his tunic, while realizing Gieve had not replied to Daryun's correction, and he knew without looking that all eyes were on them. He ignored this and focused on helping in what little ways he could; remembering the way Arslan had been moving himself before this whole episode had begun, he coaxed his friend to hold onto his neck again, then lowered his hands to Arslan's waist and guided him into gently rocking from side to side. The young king made no protest nor acknowledgment, pliable in his arms and easily following the direction.

Arslan stayed determinedly silent, but the firm grip of his arms around Elam's neck and the tension in his slender body as it pressed up against his was enough to tell Elam that this was a particularly difficult contraction, and that he was struggling to hold himself together. That white-haired head dropped to press against Elam's chest and a choked sound escaped him, but no other noise followed- after letting out such an awful scream earlier, he seemed more determined than ever to keep his jaw tightly shut.

"Damn," Gieve suddenly muttered, moving around Narsus to get a better look at Arslan. Elam assumed from the direction of the man's gaze that the wet patch on Arslan's trousers had grown, reaching past the cover of the over-long tunic.

Narsus made a concerned noise while Daryun's formidable brows furrowed. "That means it's nearly time, yes?" Narsus asked, meeting Elam's eyes.

While the boy forced his main focus to stay with his friend, he answered quietly, "Yes, but that happened a while ago."

If his hearing were superhuman he was sure he'd have been able to hear their hearts stopping. As it was, the glimpse he got of their faces communicated their alarm quite nicely.

"We need to get her inside," Gieve asserted, losing all sense of his usual amused confidence.

"I agree- I'll carry him," Daryun replied. He sent Gieve a frosty look that went ignored.

No move was made, though. Arslan was still in the harsh grip of agony and they knew better than to try anything while he was like this.

The atmosphere was thick with tension from the others as they waited out the contraction, not yet accustomed to the situation like Elam told himself he mostly was. He wanted to think he was unfazed by it at this point but he knew he could never fully be- not when Arslan's pretty face kept twisting into such a pained expression that continued to make his heart ache.

Finally, _finally,_ the tightness ebbed from Arslan's muscles and he let out the breath he'd been holding, going almost limp against his friend. "I'm alright," he murmured into Elam's tunic, breathy and strained and shaking, clearly trying to reassure himself more than anything.

"We're glad," Daryun said quietly, reaching out and placing his hand on Arslan's shoulder with utmost care. Despite everyone's obvious expectation that this would be ill-received, Arslan didn't flinch at the touch. He raised his head and looked at Daryun with a soft smile.

"I truly am lucky to have you- I fear I haven't made my gratitude known nearly enough."

"And you've never had to," the marzban insisted, giving a gentle smile of his own. It was an expression he reserved solely for his charge. Arslan's eyes got noticeably watery, and he hurriedly blinked it away.

"Now," Narsus interrupted, "we need to get you to Farangis. Is it alright if Daryun carries you?" He didn't bother asking if the boy could walk, Elam noted.

Thankfully Arslan didn't take this as a blow to his pride and willpower and instead nodded gratefully- a testament to his exhaustion. But before anyone could move into action, he worried his bottom lip and looked away in embarrassment. "Just… please be careful," he entreated, his unspoken fear of more pain palpable.

Daryun's face set in caring determination and with his free hand he guided one of Arslan's arms from Elam's neck. "I always am, my king."

* * *

 **Dang, this was hard to write. I wasn't pleased with the characterization at first, scrapped it, started over, and now I'm not sure I like the group dynamic. My particular struggle is always writing large groups- who should say what, and when? Do I need to keep saying what this person is doing, or can they be left out of the main focus for a few paragraphs? So I apologize if it's awkwardly written, but I did my absolute best.**

 **Also, I don't like lingering on one train of thought or one emotion or reaction for too long, so if people seem to change moods too quickly, that's just kind of my writing style. The emotions and thoughts are often still there, I just shift the focus from them to keep the story going.**

 _ ***Why did Arslan/Azure start mentally referring to herself as female when Elam just said it would take a while for her to be ready to be her female self?**_ **Because I think accepting the truth and _mentally_ being a woman would be her best psychological bet for getting through freaking _childbirth_ without having another personal crisis. Rejecting what was forced on her, acknowledging her very real past, but still keeping the name- she believes she needs to continue being the king publicly. The trauma doesn't disappear, either- it's simply compartmentalization and partial acceptance of the truth.**

 **Anyway, thanks again for sticking with me- you all are amazing!**

 **Next chapter probably won't be up for a while- vacation, starting college... January is a busy month for me. I won't forget about this story, though, I pinky promise!**

 **See you next time!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey all! See, I promised I wouldn't forget this story :D This one took a lot of work, I hope you enjoy!**

 **Warnings: super freaking choppy pronouns, flashbacks heavily implying rape (because our precious prince can't catch a break)**

* * *

In the beginning, it had taken Arslan a long time to trust Daryun's touch.

They'd met when she was a tiny child, in the midst of the worst treatment of her life. Even as a young teen himself, he'd been very intimidating to her.

That first time, when his muscled arm reached towards her to help her stand up after Vahriz had once again knocked her to the ground during training, she'd seen her father's, and every muscle in her had gone taut and she'd slammed her eyes shut. She might have cried, had she any tears left, and she might have begged, had her voice not frozen.

When she was carefully, almost too gently, pulled to her feet, she had forced her eyes back open- and saw the almost nervous look on his face, as if afraid he had done something wrong.

His hands were still clasped around her much smaller ones, and she couldn't help but notice how much _kinder_ they were. The calluses were softer than the ones she knew, the grip delicate but sure, the warmth comforting instead of scalding. She could feel the power behind that hold, and the care he was taking she felt even more so.

"Are you alright, my prince?" He'd asked, and the genuine concern in his voice was like a balm to a burn she hadn't realized she'd had.

That had been her first step towards a trust she'd long since had beaten out of her.

 _I can't believe I had forgotten that,_ she thought now, comfortable in his arms. _One of my most precious memories._

Her guardian was doing everything he could to ease the journey for her- he walked smoothly, holding her close so she wasn't jostled, and he didn't complain when she clung tightly to his neck, grip strengthening whenever a pain washed over her. His hand would pet gently at her side in comfort and he made no comments.

Walking right alongside them were Elam and Narsus, with Gieve leading the way with a torch. No one spoke, focusing on their thoughts and getting to Arslan's chambers in good time. There was a tension in the air that she couldn't quite name. She frowned to herself.

 _They're angry with you,_ her thoughts supplied. _You're disgusting and you're a liar._

 _Perhaps,_ she conceded, heart hurting, _but still they are loyal and kind to me. That must mean something._

 _They're being kind to you because you are dying._

Anxiety, all-encompassing and heavy, squeezed her in a harsh grip reaching far deeper than the contractions ever could. Her pulse sped up at the thought, even as internally her very soul was crying out to the contrary.

 _I can't be dying- someone would have said something by now!_ Elam _would never lie to me!_ A contraction came, lasted, and left. Her eyes were watering to the point that the nearing castle was no more than a dark mass against a darker sky.

 _Plenty of women die in childbirth_ , the fear reminded her. _You're not built to deliver a child. It will die. You will die._

She fisted her fingers in Daryun's cloak, earning an uneasy glance from him.

 _If you both_ do _survive, you will forever have a remnant of_ those men-

 _-no, don't think about them! You can't- stop it! STOP IT!_

The slew of hazy memories that sprang forth at the mere thought of _those men_ was ferocious, inescapable, hitting her so unexpectedly that she had no way of stopping it.

 _-the hungry look in his eye, the texture of his skin-_

The path marked Where I Shall Never Go was suddenly the only way forward, and the hands pushing her on were strong, vicious, _familiar._

 _-that voice, whispering in his ear in a language he never wants to hear again-_

 _-the heat of their bodies intermingling, suffocating him, his very flesh seared by invisible flames in the shape of handprints, all over all over_ all over _his body-_

 _-the_ pain _, his mocking croons-_

 _-the indescribable, shameful heat that never leaves him, even as he's put on display like some sort of plaything, the room so imposing and cold and his attire hardly covering an inch of his body-_

 _-both of them like touching his hips, and he doesn't understand why; whenever he's chained to a metal post in the dining hall one will come up beside him and put his arms around him, hands resting firmly on the crests of his hips and_ caressing-

 _-that man's laughter as he looks away,_ has _to look away-_

 _-the dim light glinting off of the guards' armor as they chain him in place, protecting them from his rabid attempts at biting and punching and scratching-_

The final blow had been dealt and her shield was gone.

 _-the feeling of never being clean again,_

 _Of being broken, soiled, irredeemable._

There was no fight left.

 _-all thoughts of rescue far from his mind, not wanting to be seen like this by_ anyone-

 _-wishing the guards would end it with their swords- why will they not be provoked? Nothing he does convinces them that he needs to be done away with. If anything, they seem amused._

 _-so many eyes, staring at him, raking over his deformed body, staring into his very_ soul-

 _-please just kill me-_

"Are you alright, my king?"

 _Daryun?_

Her arms were tight around her guardian to the point of shaking from the strain, and as they entered the castle and the light from the multitude of torches came spilling onto them, she could see clearly the concern lining every inch of his face. His golden eyes bored into hers. Shame made her skin crawl. She didn't loosen her grip.

 _I gave up. Even with all of you, all of my people, depending on me. I gave up._

Elam chimed in, "Have they gotten worse?" He sped up a bit to reach for her, hand resting on Arslan's shoulder. She flinched, and then forced herself to relax into the touch. _If I can't trust my friends, my life is no longer worth living._

She realized they were still expecting an answer. She shook her head- quickly ceasing as a pain came upon her. The rippling of her muscles was so powerful and independent, just as foreign now as it had been what felt like ages ago.

She had gotten better at staying somewhat cognizant through the pain, and could hear the additional rushed footsteps as several maidservants and a guard scrambled over, much to the girl-king's panic.

"What's happened?"

"Is His Highness hurt?"

"Shall I fetch a healer?"

Thinking quickly, Narsus cut them off. "There was an accident and His Majesty was injured. We're taking him to his chambers, where Elam and I will dress his wound."

Working around the pain, Arslan gave a corroborating nod, face twisted. After that, the pain, refusing to be ignored, engulfed her world.

By the time she could focus on her surroundings once more, they were nearly to their destination, and the servants were gone. Whatever else Narsus had said, he had talked them out of a tight spot once again.

She let out a wavering sigh, dropping her arms to wrap around her stomach, and rested her head against Daryun's chest, listening to his fast heartbeat. The exhaustion of the past few days was catching up to her again. She closed her eyes.

* * *

Arslan went still in his arms, and Daryun didn't know whether or not more concern was warranted. The small king had seemed to shrink into himself, face completely pale and body shaking.

It was easy for the soldier to recognize a traumatic memory- or, judging by the now constant tremble to Arslan's breaths, perhaps a string of them. Something had cracked.

The light had gone from his eyes again.

Daryun remembered this same look on Arslan's face when he'd first come to on that awful day.

It should have been a day of celebration; their king had just been rescued and returned to them! He was alive!

But when the first thing King Arslan did upon opening his eyes and seeing Daryun was to sob brokenly, thin shoulders bowing under an invisible weight that no strength of Daryun's could lift, it was hard for the marzban to find any joy at all.

He'd been sitting beside the teen's bed for an entire day while he waited for the boy to awaken, only turning his gaze away out of respect for the king's privacy as his handmaiden made quick work of changing him out of those slave's clothes ( _sex slave's clothes, you think if you ignore that it makes it untrue?)_ and into one of his softest tunics. He'd stewed in his thoughts while the silence devoured him whole, wondering how he hadn't realized sooner when they'd traveled together for months, during a span of time when the prince had clearly already hit puberty and the androgyny of childhood should have melted away.

The signs had been there, he realized. There were blatantly obvious ones, such as keeping his maidservant even though he should have switched to a manservant years ago, and then there were ones that were obvious in hindsight: refusing to bathe until the others were a safe distance away, with ample foliage between them, refusing to remove his tunic around them- once even when it would have better allowed treatment of a gash across his collarbone, avoiding unsubtly all physical contact with his chest…

Daryun had once theorized that the prince was self-conscious over his admittedly effeminate body when compared to much larger, more muscular men- including ( _especially)_ Daryun himself. He only pretended not to notice the way young Arslan would look at him in envy, would become frustrated with his lack of physical strength, even after years of training.

The boy was much stronger than he looked, of course, but when Daryun had to step in and help him dislodge his sword from a tree's trunk, for example, and was able to do so with ease while Arslan had struggled, it had obviously bothered the young prince who was already drowning in too many expectations. He was strong for his size, but his body was undeniably slender and small- he was not physically imposing, nor was his strength alone much of a threat.

And with a father like King Andragoras, who was the very embodiment of brute strength, why wouldn't Arslan be self-conscious? The man whose legacy Arslan was to carry on was also his exact opposite in every way, and, knowing the barbaric king, this was surely a point of rebuke from father to son. Surely Andragoras regretted taking in a child who clearly wasn't built to be a vicious warlord, and surely he made this regret known in the form of unjustified anger and coldness.

Daryun had tried to assure Prince Arslan several times that the boy had his own assets; he was built for the speed that, with his years of training under Daryun and Vahriz, made him a deadly opponent, and his reflexes were all the better for it as well.

Besides, he was still barely out of childhood and there was every possibility that he would grow given time.

As was to be expected from someone with a disposition like His Highness', the words of encouragement always garnered a blush and a smile that never quite reached Arslan's eyes, and the subject was quickly changed.

Sitting there and watching each breath as it moved that clearly female chest, he'd realized he'd been very close to the truth all along. But his trust in the young king to be honest with him about something so obvious had prevented his thoughts from taking that turn- even when he'd realized just how _similar_ Arslan and young Etoile's builds were, how _similar_ their voices were once Etoile dropped her overly-forceful 'male' affectation.

Arslan had hidden things from him. He wasn't angry, though. Just as he'd known King Andragoras would be furious to have such a non-threatening heir, he knew that same man would have worse feelings towards an heir that was actually female. Arslan had every reason to keep his secrets, to hide away everything his father found unforgivable. It wasn't Daryun's place, nor desire, to force something like that out into the open.

Now, however, Daryun was deeply regretting his silence on the matter- he should have reached out to the king before now, should have offered his complete support and listening ear, understanding or advice- anything! Even if the secret stayed hidden from everyone else, he should have taken advantage of knowing it and been there for his young king. His former worry about upsetting the teen seemed foolish now.

As dedicated as Arslan might have been to keeping his secret from everyone, Daryun realized he still likely would have appreciated a confidant more.

How else was he expected to overcome everything that had happened those many months ago, those many _years_ ago?

 _Fool,_ he cursed, _your one job is to protect him and yet again you have failed!_

When they finally reached the king's chambers, Farangis was waiting for them in the doorway. Inside, Arslan's handmaiden stood with worry etched on her face.

"We're here, Highness," Daryun quietly informed his charge, who barely cracked an eye open to take in their location before cringing and curling up further in his arms. His trembles increased.

Unlike Narsus, who had apparently had suspicions for years and wasn't entirely surprised to be told King Arslan's true sex, Farangis quite obviously hadn't expected this: her first look at the king was intense as she studied every visible part of his body, clearly wondering, as Daryun had, what she had missed all this time. He was sure that being a woman herself made her feel even more surprised that she hadn't picked up on the boy's secret.

The glance-over was quick, and then she guided the small party into the room. "Even though this is very sudden, we were able to prepare the necessary supplies." She spared an uncharacteristically soft look towards the frightened teen who still refused to open his eyes. "I've done this many times before, Your Majesty," she assured, "you're in good hands."

Arslan said nothing.

Face schooled once more, the priestess lifted her whistle to her lips and blew a long note, closing her eyes as she awaited an answer. After a few moments she looked pleased.

"I've consulted the Djinn-" this caught the boy's attention, and he looked to the woman with an openly anxious expression, "-and they speak of no ill fate in the near future." Daryun could _feel_ some of the distress leave Arslan at that, and was glad for it.

He carried the boy over to his bed and gently laid him on it; the king immediately curled up on his side and seconds later was fully tense with pain. The man couldn't help the way his pulse would spike in alarm each time that happened- seeing the boy in pain was like being in pain himself.

The handmaiden, Hayal, was at Arslan's side immediately, taking a wet cloth and wiping it against his brow, crooning words of comfort under her breath.

Daryun begrudgingly took a few steps back to give the women space to work, going to stand by Narsus and Elam; Gieve was mysteriously absent.

"What do we do now?" he asked Narsus. "Men aren't supposed to sit in for this."

The painter was watching the scene unfold with sharp eyes. "We'll leave in a moment."

"Why a moment?"

"It's only right that we wait until our good king is able to give us his blessing to leave."

Daryun dipped his head in agreement. "Fair."

"Elam," Arslan suddenly groaned, arm outstretched. Farangis stepped lithely out of the way, and then they could see him. His face was still pinched in pain and his hand sought one to hold onto.

Elam jumped ever so slightly at the sudden address, eyes wide in surprise. He looked to Narsus as though for permission, clearly taking into account what they had just affirmed about leaving. His face was conflicted.

Narsus let out an almost amused huff. "Go on," he encouraged, nudging the boy with an elbow. "It seems you've been granted an invitation."

Daryun wondered if Elam even _wanted_ to stay- he looked awfully nervous. Perhaps he was considering staying only out of respect for Arslan's wishes, out of the need to support a close friend. Daryun wouldn't blame him for not truly wanting to do this, for being overwhelmed at the thought of witnessing something men simply were not supposed to witness... so long as he overcame these misgivings, anyway.

For young King Arslan, genuine friends had always been hard to come by. If he wanted his closest friend to stay by him during one of his most gruelling challenges, Daryun would ensure his wishes were fulfilled as though they were law.

Elam's face set, determined, and he gave a single nod before surging forward, crossing the room in seconds to be by his king's side.

Their fingers intertwined easily and from this far away Daryun could see the immediate crushing grip Arslan applied to his poor friend's hand. The brunet didn't make a sound besides a murmur that the marzban assumed was encouragement.

When Arslan pried his eyes open to look up at the other's face, chest heaving and cheeks flushed, Elam gave a gentle smile- and Arslan weakly reciprocated. Getting the response he wanted, Elam's smile grew just enough to reach his eyes.

Daryun warmed at the sight, all doubts forgotten- it was clear there was nowhere else in the world the boy wanted to be.

* * *

 _Damn it all_ , Arslan cursed internally. The contractions were nearly on top of each other now, and still the baby wasn't moving fast enough, firmly lodged in her hips. _This child must be enormous!_

She paused, realizing this was the first true thought towards the child that she had spared, and it felt foreign and strange as it made its rounds through her mind. _The child. There is, in fact, a child._

In a break between pains, she finally spoke, addressing Farangis as the woman leaned over her, gently pressing on various parts of her stomach. "If- if I am... why has it not shown?" Her voice was somewhat raw from her earlier screams, and she eagerly accepted the water Hayal hurried to provide.

Farangis was seated elegantly on the bed, legs tucked beneath her. She placed a flat hand against the side of Arslan's stomach and pressed firmly, but not enough to cause pain. "Sometimes it happens this way, Your Highness, although it is rare. It could be that the babe is very small, or that your womb is angled differently than most." Her hand moved down to the other side and repeated the process. "I assume you're to term?"

"To term?"

"Would the child have been conceived around nine months ago?"

Arslan swore several of the others grew tense, but she _must_ have been imagining things.

 _Don't be foolish,_ she chided herself, _of course they've put together what happened in Tuuri._

She tried not to let that bother her.

"About."

 _Don't ask, don't ask,_ please _leave it at that._

Thankfully, Farangis nodded and did indeed leave it at that. "I've also noticed that younger mothers tend to have smaller children," she said conversationally, lifting Arslan's tunic just enough to see her abdomen, "and that the size of a mother's frame can affect how large their pregnancy grows." The casual way she spoke helped Arslan stay calm as her clothing was once again moved, so dangerously close to showing her bandages. She knew it was irrational at this point, as everyone now knew her secret, but her heart still clenched in slight panic even as she forced herself to be compliant.

A contraction was stirring, and the girl-king adjusted her grip on Elam's hand in preparation.

Seeing her restlessness, Farangis placed both hands on her stomach and they stayed there through the whole contraction. When Arslan was able to open her eyes again, she saw the pleased glint in the older woman's green eyes and felt her anxiety further lift.

"Whatever doubts you may still have, Highness, rest assured that there's definitely a child here."

Arslan hadn't truly been in doubt at this point, as there was too much evidence for her to deny it anymore, but she couldn't lie to herself anymore either.

"And," Farangis continued, "so far everything is progressing normally. You're nearly done."

It took a moment for that reality, and all of its implications, to sink in. _I'm… It will be over soon?_ For some reason this was absolutely stunning to her. _Soon I'll be a… soon I'll have a_ child _!_

Arslan's jaw worked quietly, as she was unsure what to say- hell, she didn't even know exactly how she felt about this.

Part of her was excited. As a prince she'd always secretly hoped to have children one day, determined to treat them with the kindness she'd never gotten from her adoptive parents. There had always been a determination within her to break that cycle, to become something more than her Lord Father and Lady Mother had been, not just as a ruler but as a parent.

However, she was sixteen years old, unwed, thought to be male by her kingdom, and her child was the product of an unwilling union she wanted so desperately to forget. Trepidation loomed over her; even if the birth went without problem, what would the rest of her life now be? Her plans could be ruined! She wasn't ready! This was too soon into her reign, and who knew how this could affect her standing amongst her people as well as other rulers? Would she be seen as even weaker than before? Would anyone take her seriously anymore? Would she be expected to marry into another royal family to maintain peace? There was no way she could hide her true gender without hiding her child away, and that was too cruel to consider. And what if the child took after its father? Could she truly love it if _that man's_ eyes were the ones that looked back at her? The future was so uncertain and there were so many problems she'd now have to somehow-

 _Selfish,_ she scolded herself, finding a spark of indignant flame and clinging to it with a crushing grip. She was tired of being scared and unsure and _weak_ , and being angry was a fine alternative. Anger at herself, anger at the vile men who had done this to her, anger at her 'parents' for putting her in this whole situation, anger at the world- it filled the cold, numb corners of her soul and made her feel alive, powerful, again. _This is your_ child _, you cur! It has no fault, and if you can't love it despite your circumstances you are no better than your father!_

She was being mercilessly, unnecessarily harsh, she knew- but it helped her bring perspective to a bleak situation. She could never forgive herself if she abandoned her own flesh and blood in a moment of panic, regardless of who had fathered it. She knew what it felt like to be unwanted, a disappointment, emotionally abandoned. She wouldn't wish that on her worst enemy.

 _You_ will _figure everything out- it's_ your _child. Not one of theirs._ You _will love it and care for it and raise it, and you_ will not give up _this time, and_ _the baby will be yours and no one else's- those evil men will not take the fulfillment of your desires from you! They've taken everything else, don't let them taint your_ baby _as well!_

Being so certain of something, of having at least a basic plan for the future, eased her trepidation. No matter what had happened in the past, she was moving forward and embracing the future; she would be grateful for this unexpected gift, and she would do her duty as a mother and care for this child as though she had planned and tried for it.

Because, in the end, the circumstances of the child's conception didn't matter. The child was _hers_.

And she would love it no matter what.

Beside her, Elam lowered himself to kneel on the hard floor. That wouldn't do. She rolled onto her back, muscles protesting with painful twinges, and sat up with help from Elam and Hayal. She scooted sideways to be closer to the middle of the bed, and Hayal propped her up with some pillows. Then Arslan patted the space beside her, beckoning her best friend closer. He rolled his eyes good-naturedly but did as asked, sitting cross-legged beside her, hand finding hers again.

 _Another hand I could never despise,_ she noted happily. His was slightly softer than Daryun's, and while it wasn't as massive it still nearly swallowed hers in its grasp. She wondered at that- not too long ago their hands had been nearly the same size. _Time changes us all in many ways,_ she supposed.

When the next pain came, crushing her insides roughly enough to bring tears to her eyes, she jerked forward to sit on her knees, spreading them widely and planting her hands into the bedding before her. She wasn't sure why she did so, as no conscious thought had spurred her into action- it was almost an instinctual movement, her body preparing itself for what was to come.

The pain reached deep into her hips, the pressure of the child pushing against her harder than before. It felt like it was tearing her open!

There were hands on her back, but she couldn't tell whose- one gently rubbed between her shoulder blades while another pressed into the base of her spine, relieving some of the unbearable ache that was building. She groaned, clutching at the blanket until her fingers lost circulation.

"You're doing great, Your Highness," Elam said softly, near her ear. A few strands of her hair had fallen out of Narsus' tie, sticking to the sweat on her face, and his cool fingers carefully pushed them behind her ears. She leaned into the touch even as her face stayed screwed up in pain, breath leaving her in occasional pants when she remembered to breathe.

Seeming to catch this, Farangis' hand- ah, _she'd_ been the one rubbing her hips- moved to her shoulder. "You need to breathe evenly, Highness," she advised. "In, out. In, out." Arslan followed her directions as well as she could, but the pressure in her abdomen made breathing difficult, and the overwhelming pain was enough to scramble her thoughts.

 _Finally_ the pain receded, her breath leaving her all at once. She relaxed as much as she was able, leaning back to sit on her knees as her hands went to cradle her stomach of their own accord; the abused muscles underneath throbbed pitifully. Her legs were shaking as well, and she was tempted to lay back down and rest, but in that same moment she was too restless, _needed_ to be upright.

Surprise overtook her for just a moment as the child let loose a weak kick. It had been still for a while now, and she hadn't even realized how much she missed its movements- now that she knew what they were, an indescribable warmth filled her heart, the likes of which she'd never felt before. She let her hand rub her stomach as though to caress the child within. _Thank you for your reassurance, little one._

Daryun approached from where he and Narsus were standing near the door. "How long do you think this will take?" he asked the women.

Hayal was the one who answered. "The little one should be making its appearance within the hour, my lord." Farangis nodded in agreement.

"Judging by how close together the contractions are, it definitely won't be long now."

Daryun exchanged a look with Narsus before turning back, addressing Arslan this time. "Narsus and I will wait in the hall, Your Highness," he said, but she recognized the hesitance in his tone.

That wouldn't do, either. "Actually, I would appreciate it if you stayed here," she requested bashfully. "You don't have to… but…" _... but having you near is comforting_. For most of her life, Daryun had always meant safety. And, while she wasn't as close to Narsus as she was to Elam and Daryun, they were still very close. These three were the most like family to her. She wanted them near regardless of tradition.

She'd seen Gieve go out onto the balcony earlier, holding her tongue instead of inviting him to stay as well; something told her he was still out there, perched on the railing and waiting. He didn't want to be too close, but also cared too much to simply leave. That was enough for her.

 _Why am I so fortunate to be surrounded by such_ good _people?_

Daryun, who she secretly knew could hardly ever say 'no' to her, did not lose his hesitance, but didn't seem opposed, either. "What would you have us do, Your Highness?" he asked, meeting her eyes solidly. Behind him, Narsus' face was neutral, but she could sense no opposition from him either.

"I simply ask that you stay in the room." She gave a wan smile to them both, ignoring the stirrings of an oncoming contraction. "Your support has been my motivation for so long- I'm afraid I need to be selfish and ask that you provide it again, should you be willing."

It might have been a bit manipulative, but it certainly got results.

* * *

Elam watched in slight amusement as the two men crossed the room to stand against the far wall off to the side, visible but out of the way. He could imagine how uncomfortable they both were despite their desire to do whatever they could to help- he himself was less fazed because of his background, but he was sure that neither of them had witnessed a birth so closely before.

Speaking of discomfort…

Beside him, Arslan was caught in another pain, fists clutching at the old blankets the women had laid out. All of the fine pillows and sheets were gone, replaced with worn counterparts that could be burned after all was said and done.

He hadn't initially realized how glad he was that Arslan wanted him to stay by his side; he'd assumed that the king wouldn't want any men around when things got more intense and the removal of trousers would be required, so he hadn't expected the request, having made temporary peace with leaving.

But now he knew that he would have spent the entire time worrying- not being able to see what was going on, not being able to help in every way he was able… it would have driven him mad.

He also wouldn't have been able to take note of the promising change in Arslan's demeanor; he'd noticed that the lingering fear and denial had been replaced by the king's battlefield resolve. Whatever had been going on in the other boy's head, it seemed to have worked towards the better.

Hopefully that meant the constant emotional fluctuation would ease and the poor teen could finally find some peace.

Arslan's flesh was feverishly hot beneath Elam's hand as he gently rubbed at his back, murmuring encouragement he was fairly certain was going unheard. He didn't stop.

Between reassurances, he picked up on a whispered conversation between the handmaiden and Farangis.

"When should we change her clothes? She hates being unclothed, I'm afraid it might make her panic."

A thoughtful pause. "To avoid unnecessary distress, we'll wait until she starts pushing and only remove her trousers. Her tunic's long enough that we don't need to change her into a gown."

"Won't you need to check…?"

Elam wasn't entirely sure what the handmaiden- Hayal, he believed her name was- had been about to say, but, going off of his childhood memories from accompanying his mother to her duties as midwife, he guessed she meant checking dilation. That, he was sure, would be traumatic for the king.

Consistent with what he remembered, Farangis replied, "Not at this point. I've rarely ever needed to- the body will do what it wills regardless of what I may determine."

Arslan shuddered under his hand, drawing his attention back. "You're doing well, Highness," he assured for the hundredth time. He wasn't sure what else to say, what else could be comforting, so for now he stuck with repeating himself. It wasn't as if Arslan was paying attention anyway.

The king wasn't breathing again, and Farangis cupped his face in her hands and gave directions once more, breathing slowly for the boy to imitate. After a few seconds he caught on, letting out a massive pent-up breath, but then failed to suck in another, face going bright red from intense strain. His lips peeled back and he grit out a hoarse-sounding cry from between tightly clenched teeth.

That's when Elam realized something was different about this one.

Sure enough, Arslan suddenly engaged more of his muscles, every single one seeming to tighten.

The king made a choked sound, arms beginning to shake from how hard he was clawing at the blanket, and his ponytail fell over his shoulder as he ducked his head, chin to chest, and pushed.

* * *

 **Thanks for sticking around, awesome readers! Let me just apologize for the emotional rollercoaster that Arslan is- I'm trying my best to depict the roiling emotions faced by someone in such a complex, terrifying situation, so it may seem a bit back-and-forth and all over the place. Now that she's got a grip on herself, things will be better.**

 ***And no, I don't think women pregnant by rape should be downright mean to themselves if they have (very reasonable) doubts about their future- that moment was based on what my friend told me she went through, and not normal by any means. She was raped, 17 years old and about to give birth to her daughter and she was not in a good place mentally: "And then I got mad at myself, like, "Bitch, get yourself together- you've always wanted to have kids and you are NOT gonna let that guy make you a bad mom!" I d'know why that helped me so much, but I think being angry let me feel, you know, in control again. Like, I was super blunt with myself and angry in a controlled way, and it kept me going until I had her and then I just wanted to be a good mommy." (She's currently the proud mama of two cuties, and has a wonderful fiancee who treats her right.)**

 *****IMPORTANT NOTE: I'm having a hard time coming up with a solid design for the baby- so if you've got ideas on the name (preferably of Middle-Eastern roots or simply made up), sex, and appearance of the baby (you'll notice I've left out what the father looks like, so whatever you envision his traits to be), just drop them in a review or PM and I'll try to pick one or take inspiration from them! Thanks! :)**

 **We're close to the end of this part! After this is done, I think I'll write a follow-up oneshot or two, and possibly a sequel if I have the time :)**

 **Next chapter, again, may be a bit far off. College. Sux.**


	8. Chapter 8

**~Here I am, this is me~**

 **I hath returned!**

 ****Please read the notes at the end of the chapter!**

* * *

Arslan hadn't expected the sudden urge to push, but obeyed it regardless. It was strange, how her body took control the way it did- making it abundantly clear what she was to do.

The near relief that washed through her as she bore down was indescribable; part of her had feared that, as she engaged her muscles to actively push the child out, the pain would increase. And yet, as she sucked in a tight breath and continued to push, it felt right, like her body was rewarding her for it.

That didn't stop the unbearable pain of the contraction itself, however. Staying her voice was getting harder and harder, and she swallowed a groan before it could escape.

When it ended, she almost collapsed onto her front. The strain was taking its toll on her already-taxed body, and she just knew that the next few days would be spent sore and lethargic.

 _But it will all be worth it,_ she reminded herself, falling back onto her knees and hanging her head as she panted heavily. Elam was rubbing at her lower back and she sent him a grateful look.

 _Soon I'll be able to hold my… my child. My very own._

Both Farangis and Hayal were kneeling on the bed in front of her now, keeping enough distance not to be crowding but close enough to be of aid. Hayal leaned forward and brushed a wet cloth over her brow, the cool temperature feeling heavenly against her flushed skin.

Arslan expected Farangis to launch into instructions on what to do now that she'd reached this stage of labor, but the woman said nothing, face calmly blank. At the girl-king's questioning look, Farangis offered a small smile.

"You're doing fine, Highness."

She said nothing more, and Arslan was too tired to worry over the lack of direction. If all she had to do was whatever she felt the urge to do, she would be fine- she'd apparently been doing it right thus far, after all.

 _I can do this. I can do this. If I can lead an army to victory, I can do something as easy as-_

As if to specifically prove that assessment wrong, another pain arose rather suddenly, radiating throughout her entire core and forcing a gasp from her mouth. This one was particularly strong.

She started falling forward onto her hands again, but two sets of hands held her shoulders and encouraged her to stay upright. They then coaxed her to stand upon her knees. A whine broke free, to her chagrin, but she didn't fight them; instead one of her arms wound around Elam's neck for support while the other cradled her stomach protectively.

The child pushed harshly against her pelvis, opening it wider. With each passing second, her pushes moved it slowly downward. The pressure was immense. It was excruciating.

She noted vaguely that the introduction of the drive to push had completely changed her priorities. When she came out of the contraction to find her trousers had been carefully removed, leaving only the length of her tunic to cover her dignity, the normal panic and mortification were the last things on her mind; she barely spared it an extra thought. Her focus was on getting this done, and her relief that it was almost over.

What use was embarrassment when an infant was currently ripping its way out of her body?

Her breaths were loud, her ears ringing. Taking a moment to rest, she tipped her head to rest on the arm still wrapped around Elam's shoulders and let out a prolonged hum. The way it resonated in her head was soothing.

"How are you doing, Your Highness?" Elam asked gently.

She hummed again.

The hand on her shoulder had once more lowered to the base of her spine, working at the constant tension there. Again, all thoughts of discomfort at the touch were far from her mind. It felt so nice, and she groaned in appreciation.

A huff of air brushed her face as he let out an amused sound. "I'm glad to help."

The pain between her legs as her body was forced open was getting harder to ignore, and with each contraction the burning feeling got worse. Arslan winced. She hardly dared to move her legs or shift her hips, not wanting to irritate the sensitive area further. She could only hope that this didn't do some irreparable damage to her body; she wasn't entirely sure how it could facilitate childbirth as it was.

Did her body work in the same way as Esana's? Was this as straightforward as the mare had made it look? Being raised as she had left her lacking in any knowledge on this topic- and the paltry information she did possess was picked up from watching mares foaling or, when she'd been a wandering prince, watching from afar as feral dogs whelped in alleys.

The next pain came and went, worsening the burning but not moving the child very much. It was getting frustrating; she wished it would go faster.

Elam must have sensed her annoyance. "Want to bet on the sex?" he asked with a forced lightness in his tone.

Taken by surprise, Arslan lifted her head to look at him. There was a small smirk on his face.

She blinked, considering; a small part of her was vaguely uncomfortable with the idea, but she couldn't understand why. Finally she gave a small shrug. _Why not? I could definitely use a distraction._

He didn't speak, waiting for her to bet first. She thought it over, consulting her body and its many aches and pains as though this would give her insight. She thought about the child itself; her hand rubbed absently at her stomach. Was there any way to tell the sex? Were there signs? Did a mother just… know?

She hoped she wasn't supposed to, because nothing was coming to her.

Giving it up to chance, she settled on, "Boy."

 _Ouch._ Her throat was so raw.

His smirk transformed into that endearing smile of his before he forced it back.

"Good, because I'm _certain_ it's a girl."

 _Cocky bastard,_ she thought fondly.

"Are you also _certain_ there are two this time?" she teased. "I recall that you've had poor luck there."

Picking up the game, he replied, "I will be kind this time and agree that there's only one."

 _There had better be. I'm not sure I could handle doing this twice._

"How gracious of you…" she said unamusedly, but could not continue as the pain increased and overcame her.

Her arm tightened around his neck as she tried to push the child _down, out._ She concentrated all of her energy to the task. A small stream of pink fluid burst forth and ran down the insides of her thighs, dripping onto the worn blanket.

Her face grew painfully hot as she pushed as hard as she could, and she was dizzy when she had to release it and the pain receded. More bloody fluid escaped her. She spared a glance at Hayal, who was closest, and was relieved to see from the look on her face that this development was not a cause for concern.

Turning back to Elam, possessed by an inexplicable mischief, she continued their banter with a tired smile.

"Are you too afraid to take the risk of being wrong?"

He scoffed. "Of course not! I simply know there's only one, and that you also think so; I'm being logical and agreeing."

" _Of course,"_ she teased.

"What about her appearance?" he redirected, adjusting her arm to alleviate the pressure on his neck.

She hummed, apologetic, but when she tried to retract it he kept it firmly in place. They shared an unspoken conversation in which he silently asked if she truly wanted to let go, she replied that she did not, and, decided, her arm stayed, with his look telling her that she had better not try to let go on his account again.

She couldn't help it; she rolled her eyes, lips quirking at his stubbornness.

Another pain came and passed with little progress.

Once her panting had slowed, he asked again, "What do you think she'll look like?"

The question was innocent, but if she was to make a legitimate guess, she had to consider her child's other parent. The memories were all too eager to bring the possibilities to mind.

 _-Rough skin pressed up against his, looking even darker in the low light-_

 _-His harsh brown eyes staring into Arslan's in dominance-_

 _-Sharp features pulled into a mocking smile-_

She shivered as his brother came to mind.

 _-A softer touch, more manipulative, falsely kind-_

 _-Long black hair draping down onto Arslan's bared chest-_

 _-Eyes so dark they're almost black, always, always calculating-_

It brought upsetting thoughts back into her mind, and she stopped the progression before it could go any further.

Still, she found the memories of those eyes were the hardest to push away- the many times she'd been forced to stare right back into them as they demanded her full attention, or as they ran over every inch of her body as she lay exposed, or the way their pupils would dilate predatorily whenever they looked at her…

"Hopefully he'll look like me," she finally answered.

Immediately realizing his mistake, Elam's face paled and he stumbled to correct himself, "Oh, gods- my apologies, Highness! I wasn't thinking. I-I was just following our earlier discussion- back in the stables, remember?" Recovering, he added, "I'm sure she'll look just like you."

She didn't like the uncomfortable tension in the air now, so she forced the darkness away.

"It's alright," she assured.

The next contraction gave its warning in advance, and she waited. It came upon her slowly, building and building until she was drowning in it. She clenched her jaw and bore down; her arm tightened around her stomach.

She made a distressed sound as the pain grew worse, and something warm pressed against her forehead and words of comfort were whispered to her.

When it passed and she opened her eyes, she found Elam's face inches from hers, their foreheads resting against each other.

His cheeks grew slightly pink when their eyes met and he pulled his head back.

Her heavy breaths were making her dizzy again, and she had to make a conscious effort to calm herself. She focused on the soreness building in her knees as she continued to put all of her weight onto them, giving a half-hearted shift in hopes of alleviating some of it. It didn't help, but she didn't try again.

The next several pains came in quick succession, getting so close together that she hardly had any time to catch her breath. If she'd felt close to blacking out before, it was nothing compared to the way her vision swam and grew spotty each time she pushed for too long- her face was uncomfortably warm from the pressure and it felt like every muscle in her body was being tightened at once, squeezing the air from her lungs. The bone-deep weariness weighing her down kept gaining strength even as she fought to keep it at bay.

The child plowed through her, now low enough that she could feel it ready to emerge, stretching her painfully. She pushed as hard as she could, but the sharp pain immediately had her stopping with a whimper.

"Go slowly, Highness," Farangis said, speaking up for the first time in a while. She had pulled a blanket into her hands in preparation, while Hayal had just returned to the bedside with a basin of steaming water.

"Yes, allow your body time to adjust."

Arslan gave a single, harsh nod of understanding.

The next contraction washed over her, pushing another rivulet of fluid from her body. She gave an experimental push, but when it still caused pain, she eased up before starting again, much gentler this time. She slowly increased the strength, not even getting to full power before it ended and she had to stop.

This continued for a few more minutes, and slowly but surely the child began to escape her.

She could feel it when the child was ready to break free; the built-up pressure it was putting on her was tremendous and awful, and she very much wanted to shove it out as quickly as possible. Feeling it was the right time, she started off the next contraction with a strong push, not permitting herself to stop as the weight moved downward, spreading her impossibly wide, making its excruciating way out.

" _Gah!"_ she cried.

Farangis moved closer, kneeling right in front of her. One hand came out from under the little blanket, resting flat against Arslan's stomach. When Arslan peeled an eye open to see what was happening, still holding onto the push, Farangis met her gaze firmly, silently encouraging.

Arslan couldn't maintain eye contact for very long, ducking her head to put more effort into her labor, but the feather-light touch remained for a few lingering seconds before finally withdrawing.

Gods, this was awful. She had never had more empathy towards a horse in her entire life... experiencing firsthand the agony that came along with trying to force an infant out of her body made her truly admire Esana- no, _all_ mothers. Especially those who went through this pain and then willingly went through it _again._

That had to take a special kind of strength that Arslan would readily admit to lacking.

Her sheer determination ensured she did not stop pushing even when it well and truly burned; now that she was prepared for the heightened pain, it was merely an obstacle to overcome. She was careful about it, sometimes letting up enough to keep the pain manageable, but gradually adding more strength until she was back to pushing with all of her power. Her lungs screamed- she hadn't taken a breath since the start of the contraction, ages ago.

As if on cue, a hand patted at her cheek. She obediently exhaled, immediately and loudly inhaling again. The contraction left soon after, and her head spun as her muscles loosened. She was extremely dizzy and lost her balance, falling sideways until almost all of her weight was leaning against Elam.

"Whoa," Elam exclaimed, tightening his grip on her to ensure she didn't completely collapse.

"I'm alright," Arslan panted.

The cool cloth came back to wipe at her brow.

"Stay with us, Your Majesty," Hayal said as she worked, half admonishment and half worry. "You need to keep your strength about you."

It was so close. She could feel it. Just one contraction more and it would be out. She awaited the opportunity with a resigned sort of eagerness; it would be absolutely terrible, but it would also be the end of this torture.

And so, when the next pain arose, she put all of her might into a solid push.

The agony lasted for centuries before suddenly the pressure all but vanished, the burning receding. It wasn't what she'd thought it would feel like, and she gasped aloud.

But several seconds passed, and the child made no appearance beneath her.

There was, however, something between her legs. Something round and slimy and cumbersome.

Concerned, she looked down, but her vision was blocked by her tunic and she couldn't work up the nerve to lift its hem.

Farangis worked her way even closer, gaining Arslan's attention. The priestess had a knowing look on her face.

"Is it not pressing as hard anymore?"

Arslan nodded, old anxieties starting to well up.

The woman hummed affirmingly.

"The head's likely out. May I take a look?"

Only its head? Was childbirth done in sections? Disheartened at the realization that this wasn't over yet, the king let out a trembling breath.

She wanted to say no… but if something was wrong, and Farangis could check…

Forcing herself to assume the uncaring mind she'd been of earlier, with no concerns for dignity or emotional discomfort, she gave a curt nod and leaned her head against her shoulder, looking away.

Without seeing it, she couldn't even tell her tunic was being lifted- but it must have been, because after a moment Farangis said, almost amusedly, "Ah, yes, there's its head," at the same time that Hayal made a sound of awe.

"Little one looks quite displeased, too," the handmaiden added lightly, unable to hide the amazement in her voice.

As Arslan had feared, another pain came. Her instinct was still to push with it, but the resistance was even worse than it had been before.

 _If only its head is out… this must be its shoulders._

As she pushed the body further down, it tore at her even more than the head had, and her eyes started to water. Recognizing this was probably a sign that she shouldn't rush it, she returned to her method of easing up before gradually pushing harder.

 _After this, it should be easy… right? The shoulders are the widest part of the body… so it should slide out after this,_ she theorized.

 _...Unless the hips also get caught._

Mithra, she hoped not.

"The shoulders," she gasped once it passed, "all that's left?"

To her utmost relief, the women nodded.

"Yes," Farangis answered.

"Alright, all that's left," Arslan repeated to herself breathlessly. "I can… I can do this."

"You can do this," Elam agreed.

But another contraction came and passed, and it just hurt _so much._ She could hardly get it to move, and any forward traction she'd made promptly vanished as the child slid back to where it had been before. She found herself the closest to crying in that moment, but managed, with a sharp inhale, to hold it back. Losing control would only make things worse.

Elam rubbed at her side, as if he could sense her discouragement.

"Don't give up, now, Highness," he coaxed. "This is the hardest part, but after this it's done."

Another contraction came and went.

"It _hurts,_ " she moaned.

"I know," he replied, voice full of sympathy. "But you'll overcome. You always do."

Did she? Arslan wasn't sure about that.

The muscles in her neck were aching, and she lolled her head back and spared a glance past Elam, toward the far wall.

Daryun and Narsus were still leaned against it, but the look on Daryun's face belied his relaxed stance. When he realized she was looking their way, he seemed slightly startled, unsure of what to do.

Narsus tucked his hands into his sleeves and gave her a determined smile: _you can do this, I know it._

After a moment Daryun finally settled on giving a small dip of his head, a smile coming to his lips as well. _You're doing well, keep going._

 _You have our support._

It was the boost her morale needed, and she gave a little nod of her own, hoping they could see her gratitude.

She just needed to channel the strength she'd been building for so long in the hopes of becoming a better king- the mental fortitude, the tolerance for pain, the muscle power. If she could just rally all of these and give everything she could, perhaps that could finally bring this agony to an end and she could meet the fruit of her labor.

With this plan in mind, she widened her stance, adjusted her grip on Elam, and brought her free hand up to fist in his tunic. She prepared herself as the contraction started to build, taking a few deep breaths and closing her eyes. This was it. She could do it.

Arslan bore down as hard as she could as the contraction came to a peak, no longer caring what noises she made; a raw scream escaped her mouth as she put all of her power into pushing, despite the unbearable pain that immediately assaulted her, warning her to back off, take it slowly. Ignoring this warning, she plowed on.

The child inched lower, lower, lower.

The contraction was coming to an end, but she knew if she stopped now, the child would slide back and she'd have to do this all over again- if she even could.

So, when her muscles started to slowly loosen, she continued pushing.

The others picked up on this rather quickly, and there was an air of alarm that swiftly arose.

"Highness, wait-"

No, she was doing this _now_.

She sucked in a breath and kept it going, and with this final push, the sharp, stretching pain reached its highest point and then was gone.

* * *

Arslan wasn't sure how she ended up slumped against Elam's side, knees folded awkwardly to each side of her, but her head was still spinning and as she tried to focus on what was happening around her, she found it was incredibly difficult. Her body was a mess of aches and throbbing pains, from the front of her skull down to the muscles in her calves. An uncomfortable warmth was slowly draining from her, something wet continuing the trail down her thighs, and when she shifted just the slightest bit the sharp stinging pain was enough to make her wince.

She tried to force her eyelids open, but they were very heavy, as if literal weights were tied to them.

How long had she been unconscious? After what she'd just been through, there was no way her body was accurately communicating anything. She felt like she'd been asleep for centuries but simultaneously like it had been years since she'd last gotten any rest at all.

Were those voices? They were quite loud. Two in front of her, one beside. What were they saying?

There was something still attached to her, she realized belatedly as she restlessly shifted again, trying to rally her aching limbs into moving her upright. She got nowhere, but could now feel with great clarity the thin fleshy rope coming from between her legs. It occasionally was pulled on slightly as the voices became more concerned. What was going on?

The pulling suddenly became more pronounced, but before she could make a sound of protest at the discomfort, the rope fell limp and wasn't jostled again.

Her confusion continued to grow at the same rate as her worry. There was something she was supposed to be concerned about, she was certain of it, but her thoughts were swimming so horribly, she couldn't latch onto anything coherent enough.

 _What's happening? Why can't I move?_

Panic was beginning to rise in her as her body still failed to respond her commands to sit up, focus, or at least open her eyes. What was wrong with her? What-

The voices let out collective sounds of relief.

Moments later, a shrill cry split the air.

 _The baby._

The sharp sound broke through the fog in her mind and she held onto it desperately, finding strength in her immediate concern for her child. She wrestled her eyes open.

Farangis and Hayal were hunched over Farangis' hands, cradled in which was a squirmy figure wrapped hastily in a blanket. Arslan stared at a tiny arm that waved furiously from the wrappings. It was bright red, uncoordinated, and covered in fluid.

 _Is that…?_

"You're awake," Elam noticed, craning his neck to better see her face. "How are you feeling? You blacked out for a few seconds."

She hardly heard him, eyes wide and heart stuttering in her chest. She watched intently as Hayal wiped the infant clean and Farangis examined it thoroughly.

"My baby…"

Her arms were up and reaching before she'd even realized it.

Elam beamed.

"You did wonderfully, Highness. You have a son."

She couldn't explain why her eyes started to water, or why it was suddenly impossible to speak. The look on her face must have said it all.

He continued, "I haven't seen much of him yet, but he seems lively and he's definitely a fighter. They're just making sure he's alright, but I'm sure you'll get to hold him soon."

As they returned to watching the women work on the newborn, Arslan noticed the rope she'd felt earlier- a thin pink cord, several inches long, emerging from under her tunic, lying innocuously on the bed in front of her. Its end was tied with a string, and looked to have been cleanly cut.

 _What is that?_

Before she could inquire, the women's mumbling stopped and a voice was directed at her.

"Are you feeling alright, Your Majesty?"

Arslan nodded but said nothing, eagerly awaiting information. Everything else fell to the wayside.

The handmaiden had finally finished her task and was setting her cleaning rag back into the basin of water, while Farangis had pulled the blanket to fully wrap around the squalling baby and carefully made her way closer to them.

"Let me be the first to congratulate you, Your Highness," she said, eyes glimmering with warmth and the smallest of smiles on her lips. "The prince is perfect."

As she spoke, she tilted the bundle until a face was visible amongst the swaths of fabric.

Arslan's breath caught as she gazed upon her son's face for the first time; it was round and full and red, his mouth wide open around a loud sob and his face creased in his displeasure.

He was beautiful.

The tears returned, and she lifted her arms again, wanting more than anything in her life simply to hold him close. Her arms felt empty without him in them- yet they'd never known him.

"Can I have him?" she asked quietly, voice wavering with emotion.

The small smile grew, and the priestess nodded, moving closer. She transferred the babe to the crook of one arm and used the other to position Arslan's, while Elam's grip around the girl's back strengthened to ensure she was secure.

Time seemed to slow as Arslan's son was finally, _finally_ placed in her waiting embrace- and the moment Farangis let go, the meager weight of him sparked an intense flame in Arslan's breast.

A burning warmth spread throughout her, seizing hold of her heart and gripping it tightly, rushing to her head and warming her face, clutching her throat so no sound could escape her. She welcomed all of it. The sheer amount of _love_ she could feel for this tiny creature, bubbling up from nowhere and swiftly overtaking her, was enough to frighten her, and yet she was drunk on it.

She was in awe as she brought him close and curled around him, studying him as much as she was able. The thick hair adorning his precious little head was white. His little flaring nostrils were faintly heart-shaped. The tiny hand escaping the swaddle was perfect, with five long, slender fingers with rosy nails.

He was _beautiful._

Just looking at him brought a massive wave of giddiness. Even as tears fell down her face, she was smiling hugely.

She was hopelessly, irrevocably, _painfully_ in love.

It was surreal.

Acting on a random impulse, she brought him up to her face- overly careful, for fear of dropping and breaking such a delicate being- and brushed her lips against his soft forehead, the sensation oddly calming. She took a moment to breathe in his faint scent, enjoying the contact for a few more moments, and then pressed a kiss to his little face and held him once more against her chest.

At the closeness, the newborn prince finally started to settle. His cries dwindled and faded into little grunts and his flailing arms and kicking legs began to weaken until he was limp in her arms, letting out a coo that absolutely turned her to mush.

Arslan's voice was released from the choking grip and she gently rocked him as she spoke to him for the first time.

"Hello, my little one."

It was barely above a whisper, only intended for his delicate ears.

He responded as if he knew her voice, coming to life once more, squirming and grunting and turning his head from side to side. He didn't cry, but instead seemed to be searching for her.

Her heart swelled at the thought that, perhaps, he already loved her too.

And then his eyes opened.

The fears she'd had over whose eyes would look back at her faded away, but she couldn't help but be stunned as those wandering orbs struggled to fixate on her face.

They weren't brown, nor green, nor her dark blue…

They were red, pale to the point of nearly being pink.

They weren't the eyes of his mother, nor his father…

They were entirely his own.

She let out a relieved laugh, quietly hysterical. "My beautiful boy."

 _Mine._

Here, in her arms, was her only blood relative. The royal family of Pars had consisted of a single lonely monarch, and now she had an heir, someone dependent on her, someone to carry her legacy.

But, more than that, he was someone to love unconditionally and to teach, to comfort and protect.

Already he filled a void in her that she hadn't realized had gotten quite so large since the deaths of her parents- the desire for a family to call her own. King Andragoras and Queen Tahamine had been awful parents, and had stolen her from and killed her real ones, but at least in them she'd had a place to belong for so many years, and in them she'd had family members who weren't her subjects; she hadn't been alone at the top, not the only one forever isolated from the close-knit community of the common folk of Pars.

No matter how distant Lady Mother or abusive Lord Father had been, losing them had been harder on her than she'd ever anticipated. Adjusting to life without them had been difficult, especially with the role she now had to fill.

Being a royal could be so very lonely when you were the only one.

She'd been able to soothe most of the ache by surrounding herself with a new family, comprised of people she trusted with her life and who she loved fiercely, and they brought her happiness where no one else could. She adored all of them, and always would.

But now… now!

Now she had someone who relied on _her_ , and who was small and new and _hers,_ who she could interact with without propriety and rank coming between them, with whom she shared blood and to whom she could give everything.

Her pulse sped up as she realized how much potential rested in this bundle in her arms.

Her son could learn from her, including her mistakes, and be an even better ruler.

His future was full of endless possibility, and it was humbling to be a part of shaping it.

The baby cooed again, staring up at her with such innocent adoration, such open trust, that she had to look away before her tears fell onto his face. _I don't deserve you_.

 _But I'm going to do my best. Because that's what_ you _deserve._

She got so caught up in her emotions that she jumped a little when Elam suddenly spoke over her shoulder.

"He's very handsome."

Still exhausted, she took the opportunity to lean back against his chest and relished the contact of a loved one as she celebrated this unexpected addition to her family. She was sure she was glowing with pride.

"Thank you, Elam."

She never wanted this moment to end.

Of course, Fate would never be so kind as to allow it- when it eventually did end, the fact that it was by a weak contraction made it doubly unpleasant, as well as alarming.

 _Dear Mithra, please tell me there isn't another one!_

While the idea of having a second baby to cherish wasn't unappealing, she did _not_ have the strength to push one out.

Elam felt it when she tensed, and his hand rubbed at her side.

"That's just the afterbirth, Highness," Hayal reassured, pulling out a cloth pouch.

The next minutes passed in discomfort before the last of the birth was whisked away.

Thankfully the baby was peaceful throughout this phase, staying contently tucked up against his mother, and the atmosphere lost the rest of its tension as this last part was completed without complication.

Arslan had just settled back against Elam as she'd been before when the babe started to fuss again, turning his head and desperately rooting at her chest. Confused, she looked to Farangis.

"What's he doing?"

The priestess reached over and caressed the child's soft hair tenderly.

"He's hungry, Highness. You'll have to feed him soon."

"How?"

If she'd never seen Farangis surprised before, she had certainly seen it now.

The woman blinked.

"With your milk."

… _What?_

Arslan cocked her head, brows furrowed.

Sighing, Farangis leaned closer and murmured, so that the others could not hear, "A mother's milk is stored in her breasts, Highness."

Arslan's stomach dropped.

Suddenly she saw movement in her periphery- Daryun and Narsus, who had remained quiet until then and had been respecting her space, had taken this conversation as their cue to leave and had started heading for the door.

 _But they haven't met the baby yet!_

Upset, she made to protest- but Farangis spoke first.

"Come back when I send for you, please. I'll need someone to lift Her Majesty so we can change her bedding."

Daryun nodded in acknowledgment, and the men hovered by the doorway as they waited for the king to give her permission for them to leave.

She stared at them for a moment, conflicted. "And then you'll meet my baby, right?"

Their smiles came easily and both men nodded.

"Of course, Highness."

"We look forward to it."

Appeased, she dipped her head in acquiescence. They left.

"You as well, Elam," Farangis added.

The teen didn't argue, carefully moving Arslan so she was propped against the wall. When they were face-to-face, she gave him a similar searching look.

"You'll come back, too?"

"If I'm welcome to, then of course."

Relieved, she replied, "You most certainly are."

He didn't hesitate. "Then I'll be waiting."

As she watched him leave, Arslan clutched her baby tighter and tried to prepare herself for the entirely new struggle she knew was coming.

* * *

 **Yay, Baby is finally here! Despite how difficult it is (as I've never given birth myself), I do love writing birth scenes.**

 **Anyway, thank you so much to Trunks for your suggestion on Baby's gender!**

 ****Now the lad needs a name- if you've got ideas, please feel free to send them to me either via review or PM! I've got a few, but I'm always interested in your input!**

 **Thanks!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Konnichiwa! Yes, I've taken ten years to update this. Yes, it's not nearly as long as the wait time would make you think it'd be. Why is this?**

 **... Yes.**

 **(Or, in other words, I have the WORST time management skills and college and work have been kicking my butt!)**

 **Forewarning for this chapter: super SUPER freaking choppy pronouns. They kind of go with the flow of whatever the person is thinking in the moment. I promise it gets less awful later.**

 **Also, you guys still have time to submit name ideas for our little princeling! So far I've gotten Eren, Ari, and Nima! I like all of them, but I'm always open to more ideas! Thank you to everyone who gave me the aforementioned names!**

* * *

Arslan wasn't sure why this was so difficult.

Having her trousers removed had hardly given her pause, and even though that had been mostly situational, her remaining disquiet had been soothed by the fact that this was ultimately for the good of her child.

Using that same reasoning was not helping now.

Her hands shook as they clasped at her tunic, her arms crossed over her chest protectively. The very thought of undressing…

She was never supposed to be without her tunic. It was the law over her head for most of her life. Her body was disfigured, hideous…

 _Those men_ had seemed to pick up on this; they often had her go days at a time without anything covering her chest, just to toy with her, make her feeble. Anytime they looked her way, she cowered. She wasn't proud of it.

"Highness," Farangis entreated for the third time. Her voice was remarkably gentle, considering how unreasonable Arslan knew she was being.

"I _can't_."

"All due respect, Your Highness, but it's highly likely that you can. Remember, our bodies are made to do this."

Which Arslan also accepted as the truth- she trusted Farangis to know more about this than she. But, at the same time, it didn't make this any easier.

Not to mention her use of the word "our". As though they were part of the same group, could be categorized together, as though Arslan wasn't some lone anomalous creature disfigured beyond sexual recognition…

She wasn't sure how she felt about it.

"I know _that_ ," she argued, "but I…"

It was so difficult to explain! Not to mention humiliating.

 _Just spit it out!_

"... I'm never supposed to…"

 _Say it! She'll understand- you_ _ **know**_ _she'll understand!_

Her voice cracked. "They always told me that I'm… _different_ … and that I should never take off-"

"Your Highness," Farangis cut in, to her relief.

The baby started fussing and rooting again, and Farangis rocked him while fixing Arslan with a sympathetic look.

"Listen to me, Highness. There is _nothing wrong_ with your body." Arslan's stomach churned. "Nothing at all. Anyone who told you otherwise was cruel to do so. And anything you were raised to believe about yourself was incorrect if it gave you the impression that you're anything other than _normal."_

The words she'd always, deep down, wanted- no, _needed-_ to hear.

And yet… How much weight did they truly hold? A lifetime of multiple people reinforcing one belief, and Farangis solely stating another- which was she to take to heart?

It should have been obvious- Farangis was the most trustworthy voice to listen to.

However, the other voices were _loud._

Seeming to sense this inner conflict, Farangis tried again. "Look at me, Highness."

Confused, startled, Arslan followed orders and met her eyes.

"No," Farangis said gently, " _look."_

The priestess passed the newborn to Hayal, freeing her arms so she could gesture to herself. She started at her elegant neck and slowly shifted downward, past her slim shoulders, past her voluptuous breasts (Arslan was of half a mind to look away in embarrassment, but Farangis' firm look made it clear that this was important and not something to be embarrassed about), past her delicate ribcage, her trim waist, and ending at her wide hips. Her movements weren't sexual in nature, but clinical, patient, and matter-of-fact.

Doing her best, Arslan studied what she was being shown, uncomfortably taking advantage of an opportunity to thoroughly examine with permission. She had admittedly always been fascinated by Farangis' open display of her body, but anything more than a glance could be taken the wrong way.

"Now, what am _I,_ Highness?"

"A woman," she replied immediately.

"A _normal_ woman," Farangis corrected. "Now, when I ask this next question, I want you to think deeply and carefully before giving an honest answer."

Arslan nodded, feeling uneasy.

"When you're without your wrappings, and look down at yourself- do you look at all like me?"

The words almost escaped immediately- _I don't look-_ before she quashed them on her tongue. She never _wanted_ to look, but she had seen her own body bared on many occasions. In fact just the other day she had even noticed a change in herself; the odd shape of her chest was different. More pronounced- and more painful to bind.

 _I… the shape is…_

She knew what the two mounds were- those 'disfigurements' she was to bind down and hide. And perhaps she'd known for a while what they really were, but even now she couldn't bring herself to call them her 'breasts'. Because boys didn't have those.

Still obeying instructions, as she would only do for a select few people, Arslan closed her eyes and thought back to that image from a few days ago. When she'd looked down.

She couldn't quite admit that there were _several_ similarities, but, on the other hand… she'd seen the other men of the camp shirtless several times. She _had_ to concede that there were very few commonalities between her and _them._

Prince Arslan had often looked away, jealous and frustrated that he couldn't build himself to be like _that_. His sides were too curved and delicate-looking, his shoulders too small, his stomach displaying plenty of lean muscle but too soft-looking. _Their_ chests looked to be made of muscle, while his was… _not._

Not wanting to explain all of this, she settled for nodding wordlessly.

"That's because you're a young woman, Your Majesty," the Priestess said softly. "If your body looks the way it does, it's not because of a disfigurement- it is a definitive way to tell that _you are a female._ "

For some reason the royal couldn't explain, her breath caught in her throat. Her eyes started to water and she hurriedly blinked it away. The baby started fussing again in Hayal's arms and while the woman tried her best to calm him, Arslan somehow knew it wouldn't last long.

 _I need to get over this, and soon._

Still…

"Are you… certain?"

About exactly what, she wasn't sure.

Farangis nodded nonetheless.

"Absolutely."

It was just what she needed to hear. The remaining tension drained from Arslan's shoulders and she released a breath, trying to regain control of herself.

 _Please, just accept it and get this over with. Look at your son- he's starving! He needs you to feed him. Push past your inhibitions and do it!_

Shoring up her nerves, the king forced herself to nod.

Farangis reached over, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. "I'm proud of you," she said, and the girl's face flushed as an indescribable feeling overtook her. In that moment, no one's opinion of her had ever mattered so much.

Teary-eyed again, she gave one more nod. _I can do this._

Farangis took the prince from Hayal, allowing the handmaiden to fetch a clean shift and bring it over to where the girl-king sat, getting tense again with poorly-hidden trepidation.

Arslan looked away as the woman who'd always known her secret reached down and took the hem of Arslan's tunic into her hands. The teen blindly pulled the edge of the soiled blanket into her lap to cover herself, then motioned for the servant to continue.

She lifted her shaking arms as the garment was lifted, pulled them out of the sleeves, and then crossed them over her bandaged chest as the tunic was taken off of her head, sending her hair tumbling into her face as the tie came undone.

Shame enveloped her, and she blushed furiously.

"Your Majesty, why don't you turn around? To preserve your privacy," Hayal suggested, folding the soiled garment over her arm. The bloody stains were likely to mark the pure white of her sleeve if she wasn't careful, and yet the kindly woman didn't seem to care.

"Good idea," Farangis agreed.

That took some of the weight from Arslan's shoulders. Nodding again, she carefully rotated in place until she was facing the wall, careful not to displace the blanket. It got a bit bunched up, and she took a few moments to adjust it until it wrapped entirely around her hips.

 _Gods_ was she sore. All of her muscles were protesting, varying from screaming at her to twinging uncomfortably. Not to mention the exhaustion; only her fear of what was coming kept her eyelids from drooping, and her mind was only temporarily clear.

Neither of her mentors spoke, knowing that she knew what she needed to do next.

 _Tha-thump._ Her heart beat furiously against her ribs.

The dread hanging in the air was palpable, and the trepidation stayed her hands for several precious seconds as she tried to rationalize for the hundredth time what she was about to do- and she _was_ going to do it. She would be forever ashamed of herself if she failed her son now, so soon into his short life.

Were there even any other options, were she to change her mind? Could they find a nursing mother in time to take her place?

Just considering that scenario made her angry at herself. _I need to stop stalling. I need to do this. I won't put my responsibilities onto someone else._

She gulped.

 _Tha-thump._

As her fingers clumsily searched out the end of the cloth strip just above her sternum, she thought about her son to distract herself. He would need a name. Were there any she liked? She wasn't sure she wanted to name him after anyone in the royal lineage; just as his gorgeous eyes were unique to him, she wanted his name to be also.

She passed the tail of the bandage under an arm. Hayal took it and passed it back on the other side.

The bandage loosened.

Should his name be a reflection of her hopes for him? Should it mean _strong,_ or _wise_ , or _good fortune?_ Should it have to do with the context of his birth- _born at night, firstborn?_ Or be based on his appearance- _red_ eyes, _white_ hair?

 _Tha-thump._

 _I wonder if his skin will be as pale as mine. Or will he take after his father in that regard?_

The newborn was still bright red, so it was impossible to tell if he would be pale or tan. Or would he start out pale and get darker as he aged? Did the same apply to his hair? Would his eyes change?

With one final loop around her back, the bandage came completely undone, pooling in her lap. She was trying her hardest not to give in to the rising panic and stopped each frantic thought in its tracks before it could take control of her.

Dropping the cloth onto the bed beside her, another part of her couldn't deny how good it felt to be free of its restrictions- physically and metaphorically. At the base of it all, disfigured or not, this was _her_.

It was almost as powerful a feeling as the anxiety clawing at her nerves.

 _Don't panic, now. This is for him. This is for him._

"This is for him."

"Yes- and for you," Farangis added gently. "Now, I'm going to hand him to you. Are you ready?"

"Yes."

It took a fair amount of awkward twisting to get a good hold of her newborn without exposing her chest to the others, but she eventually managed it, and pulled him close.

He had struggled free of his swaddle so that it was only loosely wrapped around his lower half, leaving most of his torso bare, and when she held him against her, their skin made contact and inexplicably the happiness she felt just by holding him increased to the point that her posture started to loosen and a smile broke out on her face. The feeling of him, closer even than the first time she'd held him, was overwhelming, and her heart felt close to bursting.

Farangis and Hayal carefully instructed her on how to feed him over the next few minutes. It was frustrating at first, because although the infant kept loudly declaring his hunger to the world, and would violently thrash his face about in search of sustenance, the moment she positioned him to latch on he would seem to lose all motivation to actually eat and would continue to search as though he was not being offered anything.

Finally, after several more attempts, he figured it out.

The sensation of his suckling was… interesting. On the one hand it came with a wave of relief as the pressure in her chest went down, but on the other… it stirred some memories she'd rather not dwell on. Thankfully she was able to grow used to it after a small adjustment period, and if she watched him nurse it kept the memories at bay.

She caressed his face with her free hand, ran her fingers through his short hair that grew fuzzy as it dried, traced the outline of his face and the shell of his tiny ear- anything to increase the connection between them. Her fingers tenderly roved over his shoulder, down his arm, and closed around that tiny hand, rubbing over little knuckles.

His fingers eventually found one of hers and wrapped around it. She let out a shaky croon, overcome with emotion.

She wasn't sure how long it took for all of it to be done- but by the time the infant had finished eating and had fallen asleep in her arms, the tension was gone from her shoulders and her eyelids were drooping. When the shift was delicately slipped over her head without the bandages being put back on, she wasn't upset.

Without protest she laid the newborn on the bed before her and allowed herself to be dressed, slightly offput by the sensation of the fabric rubbing against her bare chest.

Farangis took all of the pillows that were still clean and made a pile on the side of the bed where the birth hadn't taken place, and Arslan was ushered to lie against them and lay the baby on her chest; he fit perfectly against her, and more warmth spread through her.

Lying down made it harder to fight off the exhaustion that kept trying to steal her away. Her vision blurred and she yawned.

"Rest now, Highness."

Making sure her son was secure and wouldn't fall, she ran her fingers through his locks one more time and gave in to the darkness pulling at her.

* * *

Her thoughts were racing tirelessly as Farangis was finally able to finish her work now that King Arslan was unconscious- by Mithra's mercy everything had gone well, but the young girl was just barely big enough to have birthed a child and, predictably, a few stitches were in order.

The priestess sighed, preparing her needle slowly to allow the potion time to take effect; Arslan was deeply asleep, but the herbs would ensure she felt nothing. The last thing they needed was the teen waking up in a panic.

As she made the first stitch, Farangis recalled what had been haunting her so.

She'd hidden her shock and revulsion well. Young Arslan had turned her back on them and, to Farangis' horror, revealed a small back completely covered in scars. The milky white of her skin only made the warped, discolored stripes stand out in even harsher contrast.

Was this what the girl had meant? Was this her father's doing? A method of forcing absolute obedience?

Disgusting. It was hardly her place to judge the actions of a king, and yet Farangis could hardly restrain her thoughts of anger. No man was worthy of power if he used it to abuse others.

It made her even more thankful to have King Arslan on the throne now; she was a shining beacon of hope for a whole generation of Parsians. Under her kinder rule, the kingdom was sure to flourish in ways it never could when led by a warlord.

She was suddenly struck with a thought- would the girl-king ever take on her rightful mantle of Queen?

Her hands worked automatically as she mulled this over, finishing the final stitch and tying it off.

The people would certainly wonder where this new heir came from, and if Arslan continued to hide her gender, she would have to endure the scandal of many women coming forward with claims of being the prince's mother in the hopes of gaining a place in the palace.

Gossips were always the strongest threat to harmony within a kingdom, and they would pick up these stories immediately, spreading them all throughout the land- and if no mother was ever revealed, the gossip could turn in a different direction, perhaps even coming to the truth but at the expense of Arslan's reputation.

Not to mention the risk that could spring up if this malicious spread reached other kingdoms; after all, the best strategist can find a weak point in any situation and exploit it.

Farangis would have to consult Narsus later and find out his stance on this.

She set aside the bloodied needle and leaned forward, wiping her fingers clean before placing a hand on the newborn prince's warm back.

Steady breaths.

Pleased, she caressed the back of his head once and carefully climbed off of the bed, allowing Hayal to take her place and get the young mother cleaned up.

The priestess leaned against the nearest wall and took a moment to examine mother and child.

King Arslan was in a deep, exhausted sleep, not moving at all besides the gentle rise and fall of her chest. Both of her hands rested securely on her son, who was equally dead to the world, tiny fist pressed to his lips. Every once in a while a contented coo would escape him.

Honestly, Farangis was quite surprised at how big he was.

Young Arslan hadn't looked pregnant at all besides, she supposed, the slight softness of her belly where Farangis was sure there should have been solid muscle. Even then, the effect was hardly visible, only visible when her tunic was removed, and Farangis had only glimpsed it _after_ the boy was born.

She'd been expecting a much tinier infant than this little pale-haired prince, but she was certainly happy to have been wrong.

His chances of survival were much higher.

After a few minutes, Hayal suddenly spoke, her soft voice breaking the deafening silence.

"You know, I've been her maidservant since she was first brought here."

The woman didn't look away from her task as she dipped her rag into the basin of fresh water, rung out the excess, and continued running it over the teen's thigh as the trail of blood slowly disappeared.

"You have?" Farangis asked politely, having suspected as much. With how fiercely the king guarded her secrets, she wouldn't let just anyone in on them.

Hayal nodded, a fond smile coming to her lips. "Yes. Tiny little thing. Willful, too. That is, when she wasn't terrified." The smile faded. "The things they did to her… it broke my heart to have to be involved with it."

Curious, Farangis asked, "Were you the one who taught her how to bind her breasts?"

Before Hayal could answer, there was the sound of an oud being quietly strummed from the balcony. _I'm still here. I can hear you._

She hadn't forgotten about Gieve, but she'd assumed he would have leapt to an adjacent balcony and left by now. All of the 'interesting' parts were over.

Exasperated, Farangis crossed the room and peered out.

The moon was bright and high in the sky, illuminating the minstrel as he perched on the rail, lazily continuing his tune.

"As I'm sure you overheard, the king and prince are sleeping now. Kindly take your performance elsewhere."

He shrugged. "I'm merely playing a serenade to lull Her Majesty into peaceful dreams."

"I doubt she's having any dreams at all."

Still he lingered, absently strumming his oud.

"I wouldn't want to miss formal introductions," he finally replied.

Her gaze softened, but her tone did not. "Her Highness is too tired to introduce the prince tonight. I'm sure she'll be more than happy to do so tomorrow, but for tonight we shall let her rest."

As eager as the young royal had been to ensure the others could meet her son, Farangis knew she would be hard to wake by now. It was for the best.

Gieve took care to bring his lilting song to a gentle close. When he finally stood, he gave a flourishing bow with a smirk before leaping the great distance to the next balcony, disappearing into the castle.

With a sigh, Farangis returned to the bedside, quietly carrying an ornate chair over and perching upon it.

Hayal had finished wiping away blood and had moved to sit by King Arslan's head, lovingly combing her white locks, which were haphazardly splayed on the pillow. The handmaiden answered as though she'd never been interrupted.

"I taught it to her long before she developed them. I also taught her how to posture herself like a boy based on how my son did, to varying degrees of success…" The look on her face was extremely regretful. "I hated shaping her into something she wasn't, but… if it wasn't me doing it, surely someone else would replace me and I couldn't risk her falling into rough hands."

She made eye contact with Farangis, wordlessly begging, 'Please believe me.'

Farangis gave a small nod of understanding.

The prince suddenly gave a faint grunt and shifted, making both women pause to watch him. He continued to move for a few moments before settling, and they breathed a sigh of relief.

Her gaze lingered on the baby's slow rise and fall as he moved with his mother's breaths.

"... How severely was she punished for removing her tunic around others?"

It was a painful concept; a confused young child, violently rebuked to the point of developing an intense fear of undressing.

And those scars weren't from some accident- this child had felt the sting of a whip.

Hayal's fingers shook around the ivory comb, and she dropped her hands to her lap to hide it.

"He… would have her whipped if she was disobedient. The poor child didn't understand! The boys she saw in town could go bare-chested, and we were forcing her to become a boy… and yet she wasn't supposed to act like a boy in _this_ way. It took several whippings to finally break her down completely- that's why her back is scarred. At first the man was instructed not to leave any marks. But each time she acted out of line, the lashings got harder until they spilled blood.

"Once," she swallowed thickly, "she became so frustrated with this treatment that she demanded that she be sent back to her mother, since the King and Queen clearly didn't like her. His Majesty had her whipped viciously for her insolence and that night she was told the truth: her mother had been killed right after she was taken from her."

Farangis had never known her own mother, as she had been given to the Temple at birth. However, the swell of sympathy within her breast was great. She did know the intense pain of loss, and its cloying stench that never quite left. How did children deal with such a heavy burden?

It was clear that the handmaiden harbored an intense feeling of guilt, as her gaze remained downward, studying the king's sleeping face, and her fingers kept toying with the flowing sleeves of her gown. Her posture was that of a woman defeated.

That mother's heart of hers had foolishly and eagerly latched onto a child in need of nurturing, despite all rules of propriety enforcing a chasm of impersonal servitude, so having to bite her tongue and keep from running to the girl's defense had forever scarred her as brutal failures.

Out of respect for these feelings, Farangis waited for a few minutes before continuing the conversation, letting some curiosity leak into her tone.

"Tell me, how did she hide her bleeding? I never noticed during our travels."

Hayal nodded. "That's good. I had worried that could cause problems when she went off to war. Thankfully her bleeds have always been light and rare, so dark trousers suffice. I told her to tie a small pouch to her belt and fill it with strong-smelling flowers and herbs, as well."

That explained why the prince always had a floral scent. She'd found that curious, but never brought it up, assuming it was to mask the stench of death that clung to the land, or perhaps a sentimental token.

The girl had been smart to always wear it so no suspicions would be raised by a sudden appearance every few weeks.

"What I want to know," the handmaiden said suddenly, "is how you're taking this all in so easily." A grim smile pulled at her lips. "She's always been afraid of you all finding out that she's different… but you hardly seem fazed."

"That's not entirely true," Farangis denied. "It certainly stunned me for a moment. I didn't believe it at first when Gieve came rushing in and told me that His Highness was giving birth in the stables; it took more of an explanation before I could accept that he was being serious, and even then I had half-expected Daryun to carry in a perfectly male king suffering from some injury instead."

"But even everything that's come since then…"

"It hasn't affected my efficiency, but I suspect it will be all I'll be able to think about for the next few days," she admitted.

They spent a few more minutes in hushed conversation before finally asking Daryun to return; Narsus and Elam were advised to head back to their chambers for the night, but while Narsus agreed and went on his way with promises to return early in the morn, Elam didn't waver from Daryun's side as they followed Hayal down the hall.

"You can go, Elam; he's asleep," Daryun tried.

Elam shook his head, face determined. "I promised."

* * *

He was given the task of holding the baby so he wouldn't fall when Arslan was lifted. Elam wasn't thrilled to be holding the prince for the first time while his friend was asleep when Arslan had clearly wanted to introduce them himself, and eventually decided that he would pretend this hadn't happened.

Years of accompanying his mother to births had made him a natural at holding babies, although it had been several years since he'd had the honor of doing so and it had taken him a few seconds to remember how to position his hands. The baby didn't begrudge him the jostling, staying soundly asleep, warm and heavy in his embrace. The sensation sparked a warmth inside his chest and he smiled down at the innocent little creature he was entrusted with.

Watching Daryun pick up the unconscious king was comical with how much it resembled Elam's current position; he carefully and delicately slipped his arms under the boy before slowly lifting, taking painstaking care to move gently, visibly worried about causing harm. Cradled against Daryun's chest again, Arslan looked like a small child.

The women hurried to change the linens, exhaustion starting to pull at their movements. Elam felt that same exhaustion clawing at his eyes, making them sting. He yawned quietly.

Arslan suddenly made a soft groaning noise, pressing his face against Daryun. His brow was furrowed with an unknown emotion and his slender fingers tightly grasped at the tight-fitting fabric of Daryun's tunic before he finally settled again.

Looking at the king was tricky, as he didn't have his chest bound beneath his gown and Elam didn't want to stare. He couldn't help how his eyes wandered, though. He'd known they were there for almost the entire time he'd known King Arslan, but actually seeing breasts on that familiar figure for the first time was jarring.

For once he looked completely and unquestionably like a young woman.

That was a girl draped over Daryun's strong arms.

A girl moving her arms to wrap around her abdomen, braced beneath her breasts.

A girl beginning to gasp and mumble as her sleep grew more and more unpleasant.

Daryun spoke in quiet tones to Arslan and she quieted somewhat. He shifted her higher into his arms, dipped his head, and she tucked her face into the crook of his neck, seeking solace even in sleep.

Elam looked away, feeling like he was intruding on a private moment.

Problems arose when it was time to deposit the king back in his bed. Daryun began lowering the teen's limp body, only for Arslan to make a distressed whining sound and curl. The adults exchanged unsure looks, no one sure how to go about this task without waking him.

Perhaps it was because it was late and he was exhausted, or perhaps it was because he had already compromised quite a few of his boundaries with the king that day already, but regardless of the reason Elam found himself stepping forward and carefully handing the baby off to the handmaiden. Without bothering to explain his plan, he broke what he was sure were several rules of propriety and climbed onto the king's bed. He positioned himself in the middle and extended his arms toward Arslan.

Daryun, to his credit, didn't question it, hardly batting an eye. Instead he seemed grateful and began lowering his charge again, ignoring the king's increasing agitation as he positioned the boy beside Elam.

Arslan's face was crumpled as he was caught in some sort of bad dream and his hand was grasping the air in search of Daryun. Sympathy swelled in Elam. He quickly took Arslan's remaining weight from Daryun's arms, wrapping his own around his friend and lowering him the rest of the way down. He felt slender fingers immediately fisting in his sleeve and heard a small whimper in his ear. A weight settled against his chest.

His intention had been to get King Arslan to lie down on the bed, but the sleeping royal had instead decided to lean heavily onto him, wedging himself underneath Elam's chin and settling.

Elam turned a wide-eyed look onto Daryun, who was huffing in amusement at the boy's surprise.

"Well what did you _expect_ to happen?"

He shot the man a frigid glare but didn't speak since Arslan's ear was resting against him.

However, his ire softened as Arslan finally seemed to feel safe and sighed quietly, losing much of the tension in his body.

Elam sighed through his nose and decided that at this point there was no point in fighting it. Accepting this odd opportunity, he embraced his friend and leaned back to recline against the pillows piled behind them. The king stayed peacefully asleep against his chest, an unexpectedly comforting weight and warmth that calmed him.

"This will be fine for one night, eh?" he whispered, hoping this wouldn't come back to haunt them later.

Thankfully, Daryun nodded and Farangis said, with a smirk at the corner of her lips, "You're simply keeping them safe for the night. Thank you for fulfilling your duty."

"Right, of course."

Hayal stepped forward with the sleeping prince and Elam took one arm from Arslan to extend in invitation. She laid the newborn on the unoccupied side of his chest and he wrapped his arm securely around him. A protective impulse made him pull both mother and child closer to him as an indescribable emotion burned in his heart.

He could sense the teasing that would be levied against him the following day; could already hear Daryun and Lord Narsus' joking voices, once word spread to his master what an image he cut, a girl cuddled against one side and a newborn on the other: " _Look at you, Elam, a family man already!_

He couldn't find it in him to truly mind.

* * *

 **Everyone ships it, Elam, just don't fight it.**

 **... That sounds bad without context.**

 **Thank you for your continued readership and I hope to see you next chapter (which should hopefully be up soon)!**


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